


A Royal Wedding

by mollrach13



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, Magic Revealed, Post Season/Series 04, Romance, Unresolved Sexual Tension, heartbroken!Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-05
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-13 15:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 37,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/504799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollrach13/pseuds/mollrach13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon-era. When Mithian decides to stay on in Camelot after King Arthur's wedding she never exepects the string of events that come after, leading her to her love and her place in this web called 'Destiny'.</p><p>Merlin/Mithian. Arthur & Merlin friendship, background Arthur/Gwen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Royal Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> written for the prompt over at kinkme_merlin. I started it as a one shot but it wasn't enough for me, or the reader's. It then mutated into the longest fic I have ever written and also the fastest fic I have ever written. From blank page to Epilogue in just over a month. I would like to and need to thank on bended knee all the people who read the fic at kinkme_merlin
> 
> Greatest thanks go to finn1013 for betaing this for me and reigning in my incessant need to capitalise everything.

It’s an odd feeling, attending the wedding of the man you thought you would marry as he marries another. It’s… a hollow feeling, like your stomach has disappeared and your chest clenches as your lungs try to drop into the cavity. 

But Mithian was a good princess, a good daughter and a good ambassador for her people. So she sat quietly as her maid bushed and twisted her hair into elaborate plaits, clenched her teeth as she was pulled tightly into her most resplendent gown, and graced the crowds with her gentlest of smiles. 

She refused to watch or listen but she could imagine the whispers following behind her all day. Whispers perhaps of pity, maybe empathy, or more cruel whispers of comeuppance. But she held her head high and smiled to her peers, and allowed smooth conversation of politics and gossip with her fellow wedding goers. 

She was sitting with her father and the rather large contingent of other lords and neighbouring kingdoms when the music began. 

The king. Arthur. Quite beautiful in his formal robes, alighted the podium in front, a string of knights decked in Camelot red lined up in the front rows. Mithian heard the doors open behind her and the king’s face opened. A smile that any fool could call besotted spread across the royal’s face and his cheeks lit with a rosy hue. 

That, Princess Mithian groused as the beautiful Queen Guinevere took her new husband’s hand, is what she wanted. She didn’t need wealth or titles or money or strength. She wanted someone who loved her with all his being and didn’t care who knew. 

Watching as the newlywed couple strode down the aisle hand in hand, no spare thought for any other, she knew she could never have had that with King Arthur. That she would have to find her own destiny. 

*

That renewed sense of purpose and drive lasted her until the final toasts. They had been coming thick and fast once the wine begun flowing, every knight at the head table wanting to impart some well wishes, and in the case of the shaggy haired one, some tips for the wedding night. 

The dancing had begun now and the formalities of the event broke down. Servants were sharing drinks around the edges of the rooms and lords and ladies flocked to the floor as the minstrels picked up the pace.

The blurs of colours as the dancers twirled by was mesmerising. Mithian sat at her table, long since abandoned to the revelry. The wine in her cup was rich, too sharp for her tastes but it pleased her gullet going down and warmed her belly. 

“Princess Mithian.”

She startled from her gaze at the softly spoken words and looked up to find Arthur’s manservant, Merlin, standing before her. He looked quite regal in what were most certainly new clothes gifted for his master’s wedding, his shoulders tall and broad, but his head dipped and his arms tucked behind his back in a sure sign of subservience the man probably didn’t even realise he was doing. Mithian smirked slightly at the display of respect that she doubted Arthur ever got to see. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“No, no. Of course not.” She gestured to the spare chair beside her and returned her gaze to the dancers. It felt nice to have the warmth of a body next to her own. Perhaps it was the wine talking, or the foreboding loneliness lingering in her heart, but she felt herself being comforted by the unassuming presence beside her.

Her memories of her last trip to Camelot may be tainted by her departure but the memories of Merlin painted a picture of a very capable, smart young man, deeply loyal and endlessly caring to his king and friends. This was someone she would not mind passing a few minutes with.

“Are you not dancing?”

Mithian broke her gaze at a portly lord and his wife as they circled around the floor, each grinning and laughing when one mis-stepped. “Are you offering Merlin?” she asked shrewdly. 

“Oh no,” he grinned waving a hand. “After much patient tutelage by our new queen it was deigned I wouldn’t be allowed on the dance floor tonight. I fear you would not survive intact.”

A small amused huff of air escaped from Mithian’s nose as she had no doubt that it was true. 

“But I am sure you could find some eligible bachelor to escort you to the floor.”

She cast her eyes around the merry patrons left aligning the walls. Perhaps it was her wistful mood tonight but everyone seemed to be paired and partnered, had someone to share their evening, their bed, their life with. And here she was, sat alone with the servant of the man who rejected her.

Taking a deep breath she shook her head. Melancholy and self-pity were not true traits for the princess she wanted to be. And she had company, someone who had gone out of their way to speak with her. Forcing her mouth into a sardonic quirk she blocked out those thought’s and focussed back on the eyes of her companion. “I am afraid the pickings are a little slim tonight Merlin.”

“Nonsense,” Merlin huffed, roughly pulling his chair in closer. “Just look at those fine examples of knighthood.” Merlin gestured to the long table under the windows, from a sea of swaying Camelot red the shaggy haired knight popped up, dragging a dark skinned knight up onto the table. Each had a flagon of ale in hand and were singing, very off key, before Sir Leon yanked them backwards and they all fell out of sight with a thump and a chorus of curse.

Mithian felt her face break into the first smile of the day and attempted to hide her small giggle behind her dainty hand.

She returned her eyes upwards, now sparklingly with merriment, to the blue eyes of Arthur’s servant, who was now looking at her with a soft smile, setting something warm and gold off behind his eyes. Mithian felt her breath catch for a moment in her chest.

“That’s better,” he murmured in approval. “I have no doubt you’ll find your destiny soon. It will call for you when you least expect it.”

“MERLIN!” A loud voice boomed from the end of the room. Mithian startled but Merlin simply rolled his eyes. 

“And there is my destiny calling.” He rose from his seat, brushing invisible dust from his breeches. “Don’t spend the night in the corner. Ask one of the less inebriated knights to dance. I can tell you from experience Sir Galahad has the feet of an angel.”

“MERLIN!”

Merlin sighed but bent into a hasty bow that somehow seemed as elegant and regal as any prince that had come before. There seemed to be a moment, a tiny second of indecision before his hand came out and brought Mithian’s own to his full lips.

The smooth press of lips to her cool hand sent an unexpected shock through her body and she felt a rosy blush paint her cheeks.

He looked up then, still bent over her hand like a knight in courting. “I am sure the fates have something grand planned for one as beautiful as you.”

Before she could even catch her breath he made a hasty dash for the door following the bellow and summons of his king and friend.

Mithian didn’t dance with anyone that night. She retired soon after that conversation and sat still as her maid let down her hair. All the while she rubbed her fingers over the tingling sensation on the back of her hand, where soft lips had pressed a promise, a charmed smile never leaving her lips. 

*

Mithian sat, poised and straight backed, the trapping of royalty littered in front of her. A silver hairbrush, a ribbon of silk, a resplendent chain, a delicate crown. All sat in front of a large ornate mirror, all the better for making her fit for public viewing.

She watched her maidservant’s reflection in the glass ahead. Clarrisa spoke quietly at the door with one of Camelot’s pages, a request for new linens, and watched the pink blush spreading up Clarrisa’s freckled cheeks at whatever the boy had said. He watched Clarrisa back with a look of wide eyed wonderment. 

Mithian had to quickly look down to her lap to hide her fond smirk. Soon the door had clicked shut and Clarrisa’s expert hands were twisting through her hair once more. 

“So you enjoy it here in Camelot?” Mithian asked, having gotten her knowing grin under control.

“Um... Yes My Lady.” 

“And the boys are not an eyesore?” Mithian mused, knowingly watching her maidservant’s reaction in the reflection. Clarrisa giggled and dipped her head, her hands never ceasing in their endless task. That was a good sign. “So… what would you say to perhaps spending a season here, in Camelot?”

“Really?” Clarrisa’s eyes brightened in excitement.

“I think it would be quite useful. What do you think?”

“Yes!” she gushed, “Yes, I think that would be wonderful.”

Mithian gave a regal nod, and settled further in front of the mirror, Clarrisa’s large smile reflecting back at her through the mirror. Mithian found she found it hard to suppress her own as well. 

*

For such a large and busy castle Mithian was awed to find she could walk down corridors and not be met by a single soul. It seemed that sun always streamed through the windows and the birds always had something to say. It was rather idyllic. 

Her lonely reverie was broken when she rounded a corner, lost in her own thoughts, and nearly collided with the strong chest of Camelot’s sovereign.

“Princess Mithian!” Arthur’s eyes popped open wide in surprise, perhaps at seeing Mithian or perhaps for meeting someone in this corridor at this time of day. He was dressed in a rather dishevelled shirt and a pair of worn breeches, undone boots on each foot. If it were not for her royal conditioning Mithian might have shown her amusement on her face.

“King Arthur.” She dipped her head in respect. “I am surprised to see you out of your wedding chambers this early.”

The king coughed and averted his eyes. “I... um, there were things that needed attending to.”

“I see.”

“Well...” he fidgeted. “I must go… attend to these things. I appreciate you making the journey here to be witness.”

“It was my pleasure.” She spoke and found herself surprised that she didn’t have to force a kind voice. “Truly.” 

The king looked taken aback for a moment by her honest tone, but then a careful smile tugged at his lips and he nodded his departure. She watched him retreat down the corridor for a moment, her mind on her own path and made up her resolve.

“Arthur, wait!” 

The king turned, and Mithian decided to plough on before she lost her nerve, and to take the opportunity when the King was in a no doubt blissful daze from his wedding night.

“There was something I wanted to speak with you about.” She took a breath, “I was looking to stay in Camelot for the rest of the season. Perhaps sit in on some of your council sessions. I believe I could garner useful knowledge.”

“You wish to stay in Camelot?” Arthur asked, bemused. 

“Yes.” She spoke simply, leaving the king to squirm. She may be a women but she was also an heir to the throne and had been schooled in negotiation techniques. And unlike the king, she had nowhere pressing she needed to be. 

In the end it seemed the King’s desire to be elsewhere made him blink first.

“I will need to speak to Queen Guinevere about it… before I can make a decision.”

Mithian inwardly sighed. This was what she was afraid would happen. And as much as she wished to prolong her visit she would never wish to cause any unease.

“Of course, speak it over with your queen. Let me know of your decision.”

With a parting nod each they left. Mithian mused that for their first conversation as merely peers in court, the meeting hadn’t been as awkward as one might have thought.

*

“I don’t know Arthur…” Gwen hedged, taking a sip from her wine to hide her thoughts.

“What is there to question?” Arthur asked, stubbornly not looking at his wife as he cut into his venison. “She’s a visiting royal, she has asked permission to stay at court, I see no reason to stop her.”

“It’s just… you were planning on marrying her…”

“And I married you,” he stated.

They lapsed into a silence again, each making their way through their evening meal.

“I just think it’s odd that a woman of her standing would want to stay at a foreign court if she had nothing to gain from it.”

Arthur reached across the small distance between them at their table and grasped her hand. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Arthur’s right.” A voice chimed up from the corner of the room, where Merlin seemed to be waging war with the bed sheets. Both royals turned incredulous eyes to him. “Oh don’t look so shocked, it was bound to happen sometime.”

It was only out of years of practice that Merlin deftly dodged the dinner roll Arthur sent flying in his direction. Gwen gave her husband a light reproving smack on the arm for projectiles at dinner and turned to the servant. “What do you think Merlin?”

Merlin turned kind eyes on his friend. “I think that Mithian is a well-respected, capable, intelligent young woman who will someday be heir to a throne. If she still had any semblance of feelings for Arthur she wouldn’t put herself through watching you two coo at each other every day. Perhaps she spoke plainly, that she wishes to gain knowledge and experience at a foreign court. “

Gwen felt all the tension and worry bleed out of her shoulders. “You’re right, of course.” The queen shook her head, “Thank you Merlin. Arthur, you can tell Princess Mithian we would be happy to have her.”

Gwen tucked back into her meal, more of an appetite now than she had a moment ago. 

Arthur looked incredulously back from his grinning manservant to his wife. “How does Merlin just regurgitate everything I just said and somehow come out looking intelligent?”

“Perhaps you don’t have my sparkling wit?” Merlin mused, having given up on the bed and moved onto the shirts.

“Merlin-“

“Shut up?”

“Well done.”

*

The air was still damp with the night time dew as Mithian made another of her solitary walks around the grounds. She enjoyed this time she made for herself some mornings, now that her father had departed back home she had no obligation to family breakfasts. Mithian left Clarrisa to organise her chambers in peace, while she explored a little. The palace really was magnificent and she basked in the warmth, her wrap left behind in her chambers, allowing the early morning sun to kiss her shoulders.

She rounded the castle wall, following a long worn down path in the lawn to be brought out onto an expanse of grass. The clanging of swords alerted her to what she would find and sure enough, as she made her way up the hill a huddle of Camelot’s knights came into view, all paired in twos they parried and engaged back and forth, all under the hawk eye of their king.

A lone figure sat on a bench, removed from the exercise, a pile of swords and armour in front of him. 

Her feet made the decision before she had taken much thought, but soon she found herself drawing close to the bench. Merlin didn’t look up from the whetstone running up and down the long blade in his hands, so submerged in his task he was. Feeling a bit foolish Mithian gently cleared her throat. 

Merlin blinked, squinting but at her from his perch, “Oh! Princess Mithian.”

Mithian couldn’t help the small smile on her lips, “Hello Merlin. May I…” she gestured to the bench beside the man. 

“Of course!” Merlin snatched up the collection of rags and smaller knives littering the seat beside him, ineffectually giving the aged wood a rub with the sleeve of his tunic.

She lowered herself, as regally as possible, to the low rickety bench, smoothing out her skirts in front of her. 

“So…” he ventured after a few moments of their silence, the smash of knights in play in front of them, “I hear that you will be staying with us for a while.”

“Yes. Although I was surprised that my request was granted. I can’t imagine many queens being comfortable with the thought of a past interest living in their castle.”

“Gwen isn’t like that. She knows that you’re not some spiteful spoilt princess. She knows she has nothing to worry about.”

Mithian eyed Merlin shrewdly from the corner of her eye. “Why do I get the feeling that you had something to do with the king and queen’s decision?”

“I don’t know what you mean?” Merlin responded, his voice dripping with innocence. But the playful smirk he sent in her direction was telling enough. She let a tinkling laugh leave her lips.

“You do have a way with royals, don’t you Merlin.” She hadn’t meant for her voice to take on that low tone, like a secret shared behind closed doors. 

But Merlin just smirked. “Oh, they’re not that hard to handle.”

They trailed off into silence after that, Merlin focused on his task, eyes flicking every now and then to the grounds where King Arthur was now engaged in a demonstration with the shaggy haired knight. Mithian stayed until the king noted her presence, and not in the mood for the inertia of regal conversation she gave the crowd a nod and retreated back to her chambers, where Clarrisa would hopefully wish for a trip to the market. 

*

Life in Camelot wasn’t that much different from her home court. There were the Lords, the Ladies, the court intrigue. Feasts, tournaments, knights and maidens. 

The council sessions, she found, were just as long and tedious as the ones her father forced her watch, but just to observe. Young women should be seen and not heard, and where they are seen they should be beautiful, like a painting upon the wall. 

The councillors here seemed to hold the same virtues, visit the same seamstress and read the same books as well as adhere to a seemingly universal rule as to how grey and how long their beards should be. They viewed her with distrust, as if women intrigued with politics were a dangerous species that needed to watched, guardedly from the corner of their eyes. 

Mithian followed proceedings with half an eye on the scrolls in front of her, more willing to take her information from the cursive script than these men’s drawling voices. She was happy to note there was a drooping manservant propped up against a pillar that seemed to be just as enthralled as she was. His head drooped to his chest only to jerk back up again no less than three times; she tried to keep her eyes averted but couldn’t help the small glances and the amused tilt to her lips. But eventually the king followed her line of sight and his nostrils flared in annoyance before he dismissed Merlin to the stables.

But Camelot did have the market streaming with people and life, and green lush grass, painted glass windows that decorated the white stone floors in a cacophony of colours forcing Mithian to unpack her easel at frequent junctions. She had been in Camelot only a few weeks and had run through her supply of canvases already. 

After that one particularly sleepy morning in the council chambers Mithian promptly fled, needing to be around life and colour. No matter what those lords and nobleman talked of, it seemed to be always painted grey. She drew out her most colourful pallet and set to prove them wrong.

The afternoon ran away with her after that. Her world narrowed down to the stroke of the paintbrush and the complements of the colours. 

Camelot also had sun. Lovely warming sun that filled the afternoon with heat that seeped down into her bones and made her sleepy and pliant and content: a far cry from her home’s snow topped mountains and icy shores. 

She knocked gently on the physician’s chambers that evening, the delicate skin of her neck and shoulders tight and sensitive, burning hot to the touch. It was her own silly mistake for getting too carried away in the gardens, with the contrasts of the flowers and the grass blurring across her vision, she’d paid no mind to the heightening sun or the exposure of her pale, sun-shy skin.

But now, with Clarrisa out with her boy for the evening and the heat itching, Mithian braved the chastisement of the court physician for a good night’s rest. 

“Come in!” a voice called, muffled through the wood. Mithian peered around the door carefully.

When she stepped into the room proper she looked her fill. She had barely seen the inside of her own castle’s healer’s chambers, the old women preferring to come to her patients. Mithian had hardly been a sickly child and was not a prince, out playing with sharp weapons all hours of the day. But this space, although cluttered in a theme of organised chaos, seemed homely. It was quite obvious this was a man’s home as well as a work space; a small cot in the corner, cooking utensils and a closet off to the right.

There was a bubbling glass container on one side, a scattering of plants and scrolls around the area and a large table covered in a dozen different large tomes, all opened on different pages, layered haphazardly over one another. 

“Sir Physician?” Mithian called, seeing no aging man filling the space.

“Not quite.”

Mithian looked to see a pair of long legs descend from the wooden stairs at the back of the room, the feet, clad only in socks nipped quickly down the flight. His red tunic was soft and loose and he held a large heavy bound book open in his hands. He set it quickly on the table with the others.

“Princess Mithian, nice to see you… again.” Merlin smiled. “Though I must thank you for alerting Arthur to my less than full attention at today’s test of endurance for the human soul.”

Mithian felt her face curve to a smile, a near permanent state in one way or another, when she found herself around the king’s curious servant. “I was just pleased to see someone enjoying Lord Laffet as much as I was. Though I do apologise for your punishment. It was too nice an afternoon to be spent in the wooden stalls of the horses.”

Merlin scoffed, resting casually back against the large wooden table. “Arthur orders me to clean out his horses at least twice a day. If he had his way Llamrei would be sleeping in silk sheets in oil-scented chambers. Gregor and his boys clear out the stables once a day at least, if the prat ever checked he’d never notice the difference.”

“So what did you do instead?” Mithian asked, intrigued. 

“Oh… this and that,” he hedged, a secretive smile on his lips. She smiled back but narrowed her eyes playfully. It was like a game, she knew there was a secret, and he knew, but the first to mention it lost. She stared at his twinkling eyes for long enough to notice the surreal deep blue they were; her mind flew off wondering what different mixes she would have to use to recreate it perfectly. It was broken when Merlin blinked, shaking his head. “Sorry, I was rambling, and you obviously came here for a reason, not to hear me blather. What can I do for you?”

“Well I actually was looking for the physician.”

“Nothing too deadly I hope?”

“Oh, no. Nothing… nothing dangerous – it’s rather embarrassing actually-“

“Sorry,” Merlin interrupted quickly. “You don’t need to explain. Gaius should be back-“ Merlin paused and looked over Mithian’s shoulder when the wooden door croaked open. Mithian looked back to see a grey haired man hobble over the threshold “-any minute now.”

“Merlin,” Gaius spoke, his voice holding a warning tone of reprimand. “I asked for those books to be referenced this morning. Just because you snuck the afternoon off Arthur doesn’t mean you get to slack. Get to it.”

Mithian almost found herself snapping to action at the firm words of the physician. Merlin managed to spare a rueful eye roll at her before sitting quickly at the large desk, gathering a discarded quill and parchment towards himself and disappearing into the folds of a book. 

“Princess Mithian?” Her gaze came back to the elderly Physician. “What can I do for you this evening?”

“Oh... Yes. Well I seem to have spent a little too much time in the sun today. I was wondering if you had a balm or a cream that would help. My nurse at home used to supply a soothing oil in the rare case the sun showed itself at home.”

“Not to worry, it happens a lot. Especially when the light skinned do not heed the warning of their elders.” Gaius sent a playful glare in the direction of his assistant over the top of his glasses; Merlin sent him a large grin back, eyes away from the books. Gaius raised one eyebrow frightfully high, gesturing at the open books in front of Merlin. The servant quickly ducked his head again, scribbling something furiously.

“Yes,” Mithian tittered. “I am afraid it can happen to the best of us it seems. If you had something it would be most helpful.”

“Of course, My Lady. If you give me a moment I will get you some ready.”

Gaius directed her to a sturdy wooden chair on the other side of the room. She sat and watched, absorbing the quiet atmosphere of the room as Gaius tinkered with vials and leaves and Merlin hunched over words.

Every now and again he would scribble something down on the parchment beside him before turning a page and staring at it intently. He was obviously schooled, and quite well if the court physician was appointing him to do his research. It wasn’t unheard of for a servant to be fairly literate but it certainly wasn’t the norm.

He tugged on his lip with his teeth when he was concentrating, twiddling the quill absently between his fingers when he re-read a paragraph, and then at one point frowned at the book itself, shook his head and took his quill to the ancient tome. 

“It’s ready, My Lady.” Gaius spoke, holding a shallow tub of sweet smelling paste in front of her. “It should be applied gently in circular motions on the affected areas. Do you have a maidservant to do this for you? Especially if the area is not easy to reach, you must ensure you have covered it all.”

“Unfortunately my servant has already gone for the evening, I’m sure I can manage-“

“Nonsense,” Gaius interrupted. “I would offer to do it myself but I have been out in the gardens and have not yet had the opportunity to remove the most of the grime from my hands but – Merlin!”

“What?” Merlin blinked up from the large book he was hunched over. 

“Apply this salve for Princess Mithian would you, Lord knows you should be used to it by now.”

“But you said-“

Gaius, it seemed, could give various orders and commands just by the application of various heights of eyebrow. Merlin cut off his complaint, closed his mouth with a snap and took the offered jar. 

“I really can do it myself,” Mithian protested as Merlin came to stand by her chair.

“Oh it’s no problem, I really just have to resist for show. Now where do we need this?”

Mithian lowered her shawl from her shoulders, baring the pink skin on her shoulders and the exposed skin of her neck with her hair pinned loosely into a knot.

“Ooo,” Merlin winced in sympathy. “That does look a mite uncomfortable.” A cool hand pressed lightly against the skin of her neck, she couldn’t help the shiver that rippled through her frame. 

“Sorry,” Merlin mumbled, drawing his hand back. “It can be a bit sensitive. But this stuff works miracles. We’ll get it on and you’ll be fine tomorrow. It might flake a bit but it won’t be sore at least.”

Mithian didn’t say anything but nodded and tipped her head forward in acquiesce. 

The first sweep of the cool paste to her skin was heaven and a small sigh escaped her lips. Long hands soothed and rubbed the sensitive skin at her shoulders, thumbs running up her neck, spreading the cooling paste with each run. 

“You’re good at this.” Mithian sighed, closing her eyes to the exquisite contrast between the hot and the cold, she let her head fall further forward.

“Yes” Merlin spoke, his voice sounding a little choked but he cleared his throat. “As Gaius said I do have some practice at this.”

The paste was all rubbed in now she knew, but she didn’t move, content to let his hands move along her back. His cool, smooth hands a relief on her tingling skin. It was nice, but strange to feel another person’s skin move along her own. 

“Merlin!”

Both youths startled and turned to see Gaius peering carefully at the book that Merlin had abandoned on the table, he looked up with a dangerously quirked eyebrow. “Have you written in one of my books?”

“Yes… but only because the book was wrong,” Merlin defended.

Gaius opened his mouth but seemed to swallow down his response in lieu of their guest. “Princess Mithian, please do not hesitate to come to me if you have any need. But right now I need to school my apprentice in lessons of respect and treatment towards books and words older than the hair on his head.”

Mithian rose from her seat, pulling her shawl up over her now sticky shoulder, and ducking her head to hide the odd blush running along her cheeks. 

Merlin sent her mock-pleading look. “Please take me with you!” he whispered.

Mithian gave him a conciliatory pat on the arm before turning to leave, wondering if the odd tingling sensation in her stomach was something she should speak to Gaius about. 

*

Merlin stumbled down the walkway, trying to balance the prat’s armour, sword, and a saddle bag in his scrawny arms. He huffed, stopping to lean an elbow against a window ledge as he attempted to arrange his load in a way that didn’t spear him in the ribs with every step.

You’d think that a month into marriage to the women you loved would mean Arthur was just a little bit lenient… but Merlin’s world never worked that way. 

He’d just managed to get the correct configuration, hanging the saddle bag over his shoulder and the sword under his arm, when a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. 

Looking out to the busy courtyard below, Merlin saw a few citizens of Camelot going about their business, maids with cargo as large as Merlin’s making a path through the crowds, children playing in the shade of the wall… and the movement that caught his eye.

Princess Mithian walked slowly across the cobles, her light blue dress seeming to float along the ground. The people she walked past still stopped and stared at her, Merlin couldn’t blame them, she really was an exquisite sight. But she smiled at each face that greeted her and accepted a small flower from the cook’s daughter. 

Then she disappeared through the archway into the town… alone.

Mithian always seemed to be alone. Merlin couldn’t remember ever seeing her conversing with any of the ladies of court, although – Merlin cringed – he could perhaps understand Mithian’s reluctance. The ladies of Camelot seemed to either be old, wrinkles around their eyes and greying hair on their heads, or jumping straight to the young and beautiful but entirely air-headed. 

No one came to mind that would be suitable, pleasing company for a young bright princess… unless….

“Merlin!” Merlin’s eyes snapped up to see a kingly blond head poke around the corner up ahead. “What are you doing, taking a nap? Let’s move!”

Merlin hefted his load further into his arms and followed as swiftly as he could. 

*

When Mithian entered the dining chambers that night the long dining table stretched out in front of her, candles fluttering in their holders along the walls and two sets of dinning cutlery set out before her. 

The summons from King Arthur to dine with her had been unexpected and quite unorthodox, the missive scrawled quickly upon a scrap of parchment handed to her by a timid stable hand, but… when one was a guest in a king’s court, one could not turn down his dinner invitations.

Seemingly early, Mithian made her way to the end of the empty table, she was just about to pull out her seat when the side door creaked open. She raised her head, ready to give her greeting when in walked the queen.

“Oh!” Queen Guinevere exhaled. “Princess Mithian, are you to be dinning with us tonight?”

Mithian hid her surprise and perhaps chagrin, giving a small smile and nod, pressing her knees down gently in a curtsey. 

“I’m sure Arthur won’t be long. He’s probably just been waylaid. Please.” The queen gestured to the empty seats. “We should sit whilst we wait.”

The dull scrape of moving chairs thankfully filled the silence for a moment, but then they were seated. Mithian busied herself with placing her napkin perfectly central on her lap, an extremely important task.

The creaking of the door signalled a small servant scurrying into the hall. Reaching his queen he gave a clumsy bow, a similar scrap of parchment clutched in his hand in familiar hand writing. Mithian narrowed her eyes.

The queen reached gingerly for the note, clearing her throat she ran her eyes over the page, her mouth curving to a fond smile. 

“It seems Arthur has been waylaid, Merlin insists we dine without him, no use the food getting cold.” No sooner had she finished did a pair of kitchen maids hurry in, full plates and jugs of wine in hand. Guinevere shook her head ruefully, eyes sparkling with amusement. “It does seem we have been had, Princess Mithian. We should at least eat.”

“So,” the Queen spoke once the servants had departed. “Are you enjoying Camelot? I must admit I don’t know much of your home land, is it much different?”

“Laws are laws,” Mithian gracefully shrugged. “A castle is a castle. But it is cold there. It seems that the sun perpetually shines down on Camelot and her peoples,” she conceded graciously. 

Queen Guinevere gave an amused smile. “You should see it nearing Samhain and Yule, it feels like it rains every day.”

Mithian gave a small smile, but with a lack of anything to say took a graceful bite of carrot. They ate in silence for some bites, Mithian wracking her brain for a suitable form of conversation over dinner with the queen and wife of your past fiancé.

“You mustn’t be angry with Merlin.” Guinevere spoke, apros to nothing. “He means well... I - Well, I think he believes me lonely after becoming Queen.” The queen sighed. “I don’t think the manner of my coronation has won me many friends in the noble circles.”

Guinevere shot Mithian a small sad smile, pushing her meat around her plate.

Mithian felt her resolve to remain aloof begin to crumble. “There aren’t many women around here that I can have much meaningful conversation with,” she admitted.

“What about your maid? Clarrisa, is it?”

“She’s a lovely girl, smart, funny. But I am afraid she has been caught up in the throes of romance.”

“Ah yes,” the Queen chuckled. “I‘d heard about her and Peter. The rumours are that there hasn’t been that much mooning in the castle since Arthur and I were courting.”

Mithian’s laugh surprised her, escaping her lips. The queen looked equally pleased.

“Merlin does have odd ideas,” Mithian mused when her amusement had simmered down. “The queen and her husband’s past fiancée as friends?”

“Merlin…” Gwen sighed, staring off to the side, seemingly in a memory. “- is strange sometimes. You can never be sure what goes on in his head. He comes out with the strangest things.”

“Some stranger than others?”

“Oh undoubtedly,” the queen chuckled. “But... the darndest thing is he’s nearly always right.”

Mithian swallowed, taking another sip of her wine. It would be so easy to dislike the queen, she had everything that Mithian could want: a loving marriage, respect, a magnificent life in a glorious castle… but…

Mithian’s gaze flicked back to the crumpled note still laid by Guinevere’s plate, the scribbling handwriting still visible on one fold; certainly Merlin’s hasty scrawl... and she took a deep breath.

“So I heard that you saved Camelot’s big brave knights singlehandedly from a Lamia…”

The queen’s answering laugh was melodic. Mithian leant forward in her chair, wine in hand, and listened to the queen’s tale.

*

The following morning she found the errant servant in the courtyard, a pair of horses in front of him. 

“Merlin,” she called when she neared. “Good morning.”

He, at least, had the grace to look a little uneasy, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. “Princess Mithian,” he greeted, adjusting the reigns in his hands.

“I had the most interesting evening,” she mused, stoking the nose of the white mare Merlin was saddling. 

“Ah.. yes about that,” Merlin hedged. “The king is really very sorry. I completely forgot to remind him, and – you know what he’s like – would completely forget his head if it wasn’t screwed on…”

Merlin trailed off as Mithian’s eyebrow rose unconvinced.

“Um…” he cleared his throat. “Sorry.” He looked down at his work, shooting, what were most certainly not, adorable timid looks from beneath his eyelashes. Mithian rolled her eyes, straightening up.

“Well, Mr Matchmaker, it seems your nefarious plot succeeded. Queen Guinevere and I are taking a trip to the market this afternoon.” Merlin’s downtrodden face lit up with an exultant grin. Mithian swatted at him with the end of her wrap. “Please try to look just a little less smug.”

“Yes, My Lady.” He mock-bowed, his triumphant smile still on his face.

Mithian shook her head in exasperation, leaving him to his horses. When she turned back before disappearing to the town Merlin’s eyes were still on her. His grin had died down but the sparkle still shone in his eyes. Mithian sent her own gentle smile back, dipping her head to hide the small blush creeping up her cheeks.

*

On the odd occasion when Mithian did find herself in discussion with the contingent of Camelot court’s permanent residents, during large feasts or in polite conversation during the day, lacking much else to say she would talk of how much she was enjoying her stay (as a good guest does) how beautiful the castle was, and how peaceful life seemed to be here. 

The ladies, young and old, would glance between themselves and move the conversation along. On one occasion Lady Herbert, a stern faced noble whose husband had died fighting with Uther some years ago, placed a gnarled hand upon Mithian’s, her cool grey eyes unflinching. “My child,” she spoke. “Be thankful you haven’t had need to see the real Camelot yet.”

Lady Herbert had moved on after that cryptic statement and Mithian had stared after the woman’s slow but graceful walk until Merlin walked by, giving her a small smile which she returned, and forgetting all about the old women’s ambiguous remark she allowed Merlin to escort her to the stables where she was meeting Queen Guinevere for a ride. 

It wasn’t until one night, when Mithian was awoken by the clang of Camelot’s warning bell, that she remembered the old woman’s warning. 

The sounds of screams and chaos filled Mithian’s brain as she hastily pulled on her night robe. Her door crashed open, a small scream emitting from her lips before she recognised Sir Elyan, the queen’s brother, decked out in his full Camelot armour, an unsheathed sword in hand.

“My Lady, I am here to escort you to safety.”

Mithian swallowed, but followed quickly. The chaos outside her doors was as bad as the sounds indicated. Men and women ran back and forth, some with buckets in hand. The smell of burning wood filling Mithian’s nostrils told her the reason. But the cries and unearthly screeches told her that something more than a stable fire was occurring.

“Sir Elyan, what is happening? Is Camelot under attack?”

The knight didn’t answer, his jaw set tightly as he took Mithian swiftly deep into the castle’s depths, far enough down that the sounds faded to a background hum. 

They rounded a rough corner of stone to where a heavy wooden door stood open before them. Queen Guinevere stood at its entrance, herding women and children into its opening. She looked harried, her hair haphazardly pulled back from her face, dressed in a loose pair of breeches and tunic, like she had been dragged from her bed much like Mithian. 

“Gwen!” Elyan called, propelling Mithian forward. 

The queen spun, a flaming torch in hand, but her face sagged in relief and she tightly grasped Mithian’s hand.

“Thank goodness, you’re alright. Is that all Elyan?”

Mithian looked around the room as the queen and her brother had a rushed discussion. Children sat around its edge, clutching onto someone, all looking tense, jumping and hiding their faces when a particularly loud screech filled the air. 

“My Lady?”

Mithian looked around to see Peter standing from one corner, the small body of the boy’s youngest sister gripped tightly in his arms. She scanned him, and then the empty area around him.

“Where’s Clarrisa?” they both asked simultaneously.

“I thought she was with you tonight?” Mithian demanded, taking another scan of the room in case she had been mistaken.

“She was.” Peter’s face was growing paler. “She left, just – just before the first warning bell. I thought she would have gotten back to you.”

Without much more thought Mithian darted back to the brother and sister. 

“-only open the door when either me or Arthur come for you. The door should hold.” Elyan was saying, backing toward the exit.

“Sir Elyan!” Mithian called, catching the door before it closed. “My servant, Clarrisa, she is still out there.”

The castle shook violently as if something large had hit it. Elyan shielded his head as a small dusting of rubble crumbled down from the ceiling. “My Lady, I’m sorry but we have to close the doors now.”

“She is just a girl! She doesn’t know the castle well. I cannot just leave her out there.”

“I must get to King Arthur princess, he needs all the assistance he can get.”

“Well then you go do that,” Mithian called, barging past the hovering knight. “I shall go fetch my maid.”

*

It wasn’t until she was creeping through a hauntingly deserted castle, bare feet, no weapon to hand, that Mithian question her hasty decision. The stone walls around her were dark, all the torches having been extinguished; only the scant light of the moon illuminating her way. 

She gently stepped over abandoned buckets and baskets, not stopping to think about where their owners were. 

The coil of fear tightened in her chest with every step she took. The sound of fighting seemed further away, she hoped she was going in the opposite direction but had realised early into her misled rescue mission that Camelot castle looked terribly different with no lights to guide you, and she feared she had gotten herself irrevocably lost in a castle under siege. 

The soft pat of footsteps halted her careful creep. They weren’t the true and confident steps of one of Camelot’s knights, these were the steps of someone who didn’t want to be found. 

Her heart clenched and she looked behind her for an exit. The steps were growing closer round the corner but Mithian had found herself in a corridor with no doors. She could run, she knew, but the next turning was too far away and she would never make it in time without being seen. 

If she was going to be captured, or killed, or worse, she was going to do it with at least an ounce of courage. She quickly scanned her immediate surroundings, for something, anything, that could be construed as a weapon of some kind. Strangely, just by her foot was an abandoned saucepan of all things. 

She grabbed it in her trembling hands and the footsteps continued to advance. 

When the stranger sounded only a few seconds away Mithian took a deep breath, it was now or never, her only advantage the element of surprise, she swung herself around the bend, deadly saucepan held high.

Her assailant stepped back, obviously shocked, his hand rising in defence. Mithian closed her eyes, waiting for a swift end.

“Mithian?”

Her shoulders nearly fell off with relief. “Merlin,” she sighed. 

Not thinking about it for one second she let herself half collapse, trembling into the man’s arms. Easily they came up, cradling her head into his shoulder. She burrowed in closer, hoping to fall into his body and leave this awful night behind.

“Shh,” he soothed. “It’s alright.” 

She took a deep breath, her nostrils filling with the scent of the man before her, woody and earthy, with a small tang of something powerful and sharp. Soon, too soon, he pulled her back from their embrace, holding tightly to the tops her arms. 

His eyes were wide, and very blue non-concealed worry swirled in their depths. “What are you doing out here Mithian?”

“Clarrisa, she is missing.”

“Your maid?” Merlin huffed in disbelief. “Let me tell you, us servants are resourceful, she’ll be alright. You on the other hand…” He took a quick look up and down the deserted corridors. 

His hand slipped down Mithian’s arm and tangled his fingers in hers. She grasped the link back tightly. Following his pull, she kept her body close up behind his back, the solid warmth from him reassuring in the cold night. 

“What is it with you royals?” Merlin huffed, quickly checking around the corner before he pulled them along. “Is self-sacrifice written into the blood or something?”

Mithian’s lips tugged slowly into a half smile at his attempt at levity. But she could still hear the distant screams and– 

Merlin tensed, pulling Mithian fully behind him. Peering over his shoulder Mithian saw it: a scaled beast, thin papery wings flung out either side of its skeletal body. Upon seeing its prey it bent its front legs, lowering its body down for attack, its serpent’s tongue flickering out in a hiss.

Merlin started edging them back, one careful step at a time, his arm flung out to the side keeping Mithian firmly behind the protection of his body. 

Mithian felt herself touch up to something solid. She whipped around to see they'd backed up to the side of the corridor and into a small wooden door, the strange dragon-like creature matching them every step.

“Get in,” Merlin hissed, his eyes not leaving their predator. 

“What?”

Moving quicker than Mithian had thought him capable, he whipped around, pulling the door open and before Mithian knew it she was inside and the door closed, Merlin on the other side.

*

Mithian stared at the expanse of wood where bright blue eyes stood a moment ago. It took her an exorbitant amount of time to put the pieces of her predicament together, and her eyes widened, horrified.

“Merlin!” She flew at the door, tugging on the handle, but it held fast, the wood didn’t even shake or shudder in its frame, it was as if the door were melded into the wall. There was an unearthly shriek on the other side of her prison. 

Her heart was racing, fast and more painfully than it had been before when she was alone in a strange castle. Her breath broke out in gasps as she pushed ineffectually at the wooden barrier that might as well have been made of stone for all it moved. 

There was another shriek, closer and more ominous and threatening than the ones before. And all she could think was that Merlin was out there, against a beast with claws, and sharp teeth – 

There was a muffled thump, and then nothing. 

Mithian held her breath.

And then the door was opening as smoothly as if it were greased, and Merlin was standing before her. 

The breath she had been holding left her lungs in one huff. He looked tired, and out of breath, but standing, and giving Mithian an impish smile. 

She could see the motionless body of the creature, stretched out on the stone floor behind him. He turned, following her line of sight.

“Merlin,” she gasped. There was a red stain leaking through a torn section of his tunic, creating a flower of blood on the surface. Her hands reached for it but he skipped back neatly. “You’re bleeding,” she informed him unnecessarily.

“Oh, it’s nothing. A small scratch.” He batted a hand in front of his face as if to wave away her worry. 

“Let me-“

“Merlin!”

Mithian and Merlin both swung their gazes to find the foreboding figure of King Arthur leading a small group of knights towards them, their capes flying dramatically behind. 

“So here’s where you’ve been hiding,” the king drawled, eyes on the open door beside them. “In a cupboard.”

Mithian stiffened and drew herself upright. “Actually, Merlin saved me from being eaten by one of these foul creatures.”

Merlin looked from Mithian to her discarded saucepan on the floor beside his feet, and gave Arthur a plaintive shrug.

“Gods,” Arthur sighed, exasperated. “You are by far the luckiest imbecile I have ever met.” He shook his head before addressing Mithian. “It seems to be over now princess, you should head back to the vaults with Guinevere, help coordinate the women and children.”

“It’s over?” Mithian asked in wonder, though now she stopped to listen, the night was quiet. “What happened?”

“The wyvern retreated.”

“Well,” Merlin sighed gustily. “Now that is a stroke of luck!”

“Again, Merlin, you show your complete lack of tactical knowledge,” King Arthur replied haughtily. “They were overwhelmed by Camelot’s defensives and realised they were outmatched.”

“Of course, sire.”

“I wonder if you are able to use my correct title with anything other than sarcasm?”

This sent the knights gathered behind tittering, and Mithian noted the small upturn at the corner of Arthur’s mouth. But soon the levity faded and Arthur gave Merlin a hard look.

“Come now… we have work to do.”

Even Merlin’s face lost its ever present smile and he nodded, giving Mithian one more tight smile, before his brown jacket merged in with the Camelot red.

*

Seeing to the women and children… It sounded like a simple job but it was anything but. Mithian was surrounded on all sides, watching wives and children mourning their losses hidden under the white sheets lining the hall. The queen had dived straight into it with seeming practice, distracting the children whilst mothers did their weeping, holding hands and listening and whispering promises in small ears. Mithian didn’t want to know how many times Gwen had done this for it all to seem like second nature now.

There was no class divide there under the sheets. Servant lined up next to gentry. 

Mithian stalled when she came to one small mound under the sheet; the formidable Lady Herbert, her gaunt face now pale with death. Mithian didn’t pull the sheet any further down, not wanting to see the damage that killed her. She said her farewells and gave a small blessing before pulling the sheet up, making this long lived lady just one of many… too many.

Mithian let herself fade into the background of the room. There was joy now as more men returned from the town having put out the worst of the fires; families were reunited and weeping with joy and relief. Mithian couldn’t make herself feel any part in that. She felt… drained.

All the fear and the apprehension and the panic of the night had seeped out of her and she couldn’t remember what had filled that space before. 

Whilst the hall were distracted with glad tidings, Mithian fled.

Her retreat was not unique nor inspired, but the sheltered alcove was far enough away from the death and pain and joy, too many towering emotions in one place, that she could breathe. 

Mithian was no more aware of her surroundings than she was of the grime and soot now painting her once white nightgown. Salty streams trailed down her cheeks, her gasping sobs had petered off now, thank god, into something more dignified. When soft footsteps approached her hiding space she inched back, half hoping and praying she would be overlooked, half wanting to be found.

A soft cloth appeared in her vision. She took it without comment and dabbed gently at her wet cheeks, not surprised in the slightest to find Merlin standing before her.

“Clarrisa?” He asked, his face ready for the burden of grief he may be forced to share.

“Alright. Thank Gods,” Mithian choked. Merlin’s face loosened into a reassuring smile. “She hid in the armoury of all places. She is with Peter now, being coddled no doubt.”

She’d seen Clarrisa being forced to sit whilst Peter scanned her for any hair out of place. Clarrisa had rolled her eyes at the boy but smiled fondly as he ran a hand down each arm and scowled at a graze on her knee. 

Inexplicably a fresh wave of tears erupted.

“Sorry,” she choked, blinking up at the ceiling, trying to force them back in.

She remembered the feel of long arms around her in that hallway, the way that all of her worries had seemed so small and manageable because someone was there with her.

“You don’t need to be,” Merlin spoke, his soft voice hardly above a whisper. “You should never apologise for feeling emotion, especially at someone’s death. The sad part is, I suppose we’ve all gotten used to this by now. But the dead deserve a few tears at least.”

Mithian let him think that, let him think she was more than what she felt like at the moment: weak and selfish.

“Why?” she asked, the same small word that had been flitting through her brain since she saw the first small white mound on the floor. “Why did this happen?”

Merlin gave a small, helpless shrug. “Someone wants revenge or power. So they take control of an army of wyvern to try and destroy Camelot’s defences.”

“Is that what happened tonight?” She‘d heard reports from survivors of fire and winged beasts and that encounter they had in the castle, but all were tinged with the veil of panic and fear, making shadows longer, fires hotter and beasts more vicious.

“Yes.”

“And they just left?”

“Wyverns are wild animals. They are not meant to be controlled or contained by man. Even for someone quite powerful they are stubborn.”

Mithian nodded and fixed her eyes to the ceiling, trying to digest all that she had seen today. 

All those lives, wasted, for a man’s need for power. It baffled her sometimes; the lengths people would go to for a crown and a responsibility that she would, on some days, give away for free.

“Are you alright now?” 

Mithian lowered her eyes, now thankfully dry. Merlin was still there, face open and honest, hands ready to lend if need be. He always seemed to be there, it was as if he’d soaked into every stone in Camelot, now seeping into her pores just by his presence. It was wonderful.

She shook her head and shot Merlin a small smile, allowing herself to indulge once more in her selfish need she answered, “Perhaps a few more minutes.”

He nodded and resettled his stance, leaning on the opposite side of the alcove and stayed. 

*

The sun was just starting to send light over the horizon when they both pushed off from their walls, simultaneously and unspokenly agreeing that it was time to move. It wasn't until Merlin hissed lowly at the movement that Mithian remembered the blood.

They were walking side by side but Mithian stopped, latching a hand on Merlin’s arm. “Merlin you were hurt.”

He had angled his jacket to conveniently hide the tear at his side, but Mithian knew where it was. Reaching out a hand she pulled his jacket back quickly, revealing the wound looking much the same as it’d been many hours ago.

“Oh – It’s nothing.” Merlin backed away, subtly removing her hand.

“It’s still bleeding, has Gaius seen to you?”

“Gaius is a little busy. As we should be…“ Merlin tried to slip away back towards the hall, a dozen injured citizens all calling for his hand, but Mithian tightened her hold on his arm and hardened her gaze.

“No – your wound needs attending. Either you go straight to Gaius or I will do it myself.”

“Wow, you’re bossy.”

“Only when you are being an idiot.”

“Watch it - that’s Arthur’s word.”

Mithian rolled her eyes, dragging Merlin along behind her. She found a good place, with plenty of light at the far side of the courtyard and pushed him to sit on the low wall of the archways. He dropped into his seat with a huff and then winced when it pulled at his side. Mithian had no sympathy and gave him a warning look before hurrying off for supplies.

She trusted Merlin’s judgement somewhat, and with the lack of keeling over dead in the past few hours she assumed the wound was superficial at best. 

Merlin gave her a sulky pout when she returned with a bucket of water, but he hadn’t moved. For lack of a clean cloth Mithian parted her night robe and tore the sleeve from her nightdress. Merlin made an abortive sound as if to stop her but she just raised an eyebrow at him, he fell silent and she gently lifted his tunic.

The gash was just at the bottom of his ribs, running around his back. There was blood, darkening to black, crusting around the extremities but the wound was keeping the immediate area dampened with a fresh supply. 

It wasn’t a huge amount of blood, and the wound wasn’t the worst she had seen that night. But it was Merlin’s blood. She swallowed, dipping her scrap of cloth into the water and began to clean.

They stayed in silence, only the occasional winces from Merlin and mumbled apologies from Mithian murmured between them.

The blood was bright in contrast to Merlin’s smooth milky skin, but it was coming off quickly, colouring the water pink. 

“See, I told you it wasn’t that bad,” Merlin mumbled, his leg drawn up to his chest on the wall, facing out into the courtyard. Mithian soaked her cloth once more, letting the water run over the wound.

“I would have liked to hear you tell me that when it had festered and rotted.”

“That’s a bit morbid.”

“Shhh.” She swatted at him with the wet cloth causing him to yelp softly. “I’m concentrating.”

She smirked up at him to find he was already looking down at her with a strangely soft smile. She had noticed he had a million different smiles, some for a specific person, some for an occasion, one that lit up his face and lost his eyes in the crinkles in his cheeks. But she liked these small ones best, where his cheeks dimpled but she could still see his eyes, which seemed to get bluer every time she looked-

“Merlin? Oh-” they both startled and Mithian jerked back from where she had been unconsciously leaning towards Merlin. She looked up to see Sir Gwaine hovering overhead, one raised eyebrow and a scandalous leer on his face. 

Clearing her throat she returned her eyes to her task. “What is it, Sir Gwaine?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He sounded far too pleased with himself. “Arthur was looking for Merlin, but I can see he is … indisposed.”

“What did he need?” Merlin tried turning round more fully but Mithian held a firm hand against his ribs, keeping his torso steady. Merlin huffed.

Gwaine chuckled. “No, it’s nothing Merlin. I can see the princess has got you under control.” Gwaine frowned slightly. “That sounds odd when I’m not talking about Arthur.”

“Great,” Merlin mumbled, after having watched Gwaine retreat down the walkway, giving a jaunty wave over his shoulder before disappearing.

“What?” Mithian said distracted, having finally removed all the dirt from the wound.

“By the time Gwaine gets back to the knights, this will have mutated into you molesting me half clothed in the courtyard.”

Mithian scoffed, peering from beneath her eyelashes to Merlin’s face. “Oh please. If I was going to be punished for being indecent, I would at least go to the effort to make sure you were fully naked.”

Merlin’s laugh looked like it took him by surprise; she watched in delight at the crinkle of his eyes and the small dimples of either cheek that appeared, belatedly realising that she’d been absently stroking the smooth skin on Merlin's back for the past few minutes. She didn’t move her hand. It was soft like cream, moving silkily beneath her fingers. 

“I expect you will be going back to the hall to tend to the patients, even if I advised you to get some rest?”

“Um… yes.” Merlin shifted guilty. 

“Very well,” Mithian sighed. Her hand came away, letting the shirt fall back down and gently replaced her hand above it. “Make sure you get a bandage on this soon. I would hate for all of my hard work to go to waste.” 

He nodded and she leant in, giving him every chance to move away or turn his head, but he stayed still, almost too still, and she pressed a small kiss high on his cheek.

“Good night Merlin.” She sighed against him, watching up close as a red blush spread over his skin. 

She swept up and retreated back towards the castle. 

“Um… Night,” Merlin’s bemused voice called from behind her. She didn’t look but she could feel his gaze on her all the way through the castle doors.

*

The candlelight flickered off the crumpled page Merlin was reading, casting long shadows over the rest of the room. He sighed and rubbed at his eyes, trying to convince his body that he was choosing to be awake in the middle of the night, not focusing on the frustration that lay behind his bedroom doors; the bed-like structure that didn’t seem to want him to sleep one wink tonight.

It was possible Merlin was externalising his issues, because it was surely better to curse his bed to a smouldering pile of ash than himself… probably. 

He blinked back over the page, forcing his eyes wider and prayed that this next pass actually made the tiniest bit of sense. 

The steady silence of the night was broken by a quiet knock at the door. He looked up, surprised that another soul was gracing this midnight hour, to the pleasant surprise of a welcome face peering around the door.

“Mithian,” he greeted, an unconscious smile slipping across his lips. 

She smiled but her eyes held slight bruises beneath them, her pallor a little drawn. This was the first up-close glance he’d gotten of the princess since the night of the wyvern attack. Since then he may have perhaps spotted her across a room or from the window, perhaps straining his neck above the crowds to watch her and Gwen walk by, before getting a clout on the head from Arthur for daydreaming. But both Arthur and Gaius had been keeping him busy with the clean-up and aftermath of the attack. This was the first night he had spent in his chambers since, having been camped out in the infirmary until Gaius shooed him away to take his place. 

If Gaius had been hoping his ward would sleep he’d be sorely disappointed, and from the looks of the princess she was in the same boat.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked. 

Her shoulders sagged, her full tiredness showing on her face but she still smiled, just a small pleased turn of the lips. 

“Merlin. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“You mean in my home?”

“No,” she chuckled, coming to settle on the bench opposite. “Maybe here, but I thought perhaps you would be asleep.”

“Ah, there’s no rest for the wicked.” Merlin chuckled, but Mithian just gave him a shrewd, sharp look, one that she shouldn’t be able to achieve if she were as tired as she looked. Merlin sighed. “Sleep doesn’t seem to be my friend these past few nights. But it should pass, it normally does.”

“It seems we are plagued with the same troubles.” Mithian sighed, absently rubbing her fingers along the grooves of the wooden table top. 

“What seems to be on your mind?”

“Plenty,” Mithian said, a strange bitterness in her tone. Merlin raised an eyebrow and she sighed, “Perhaps it’s taking a while for the ‘real Camelot’ to purge from my thoughts.”

“Real Camelot?” Merlin asked, confused.

“Fire, beasts, midnight wake up calls. I close my eyes every night only to snap them open a few moments later thinking I’ve heard the warning bell toll.” Mithian huffed an unamused laugh. “I think it would be better if I could get just a few moments sleep.”

“Oh – I can make you something if you’d like-“ Merlin was half way from his seat, mind flurrying through the ingredients for Gaius’s sleeping draught when Mithian rested her delicate hand on his arm. 

“Sit, Merlin.” He did. But she didn’t remove her hand from his arm, instead she brought her other hand up from the table top, and trailed it through the thin hairs along his arm. They all responded as one, lifting from the skin like a startled cat and Merlin had to batten down a body shudder. 

“I did come to get something from Gaius but… it makes me groggy in the mornings. I don’t particularly like it.”

Merlin watched for a moment as the candlelight played off Mithian’s face, her eyelashes sending shadows over her downturned eyes. There was no denying that the Princess was beautiful: fae and pale with warm eyes and a wicked smile. But she was tired, and it hurt Merlin to see her so downtrodden. As loath as he was to detangle himself from this small mesh of their limbs, he rose, Mithian’s hand trailing down his arm and hand as he pulled away.

“Here,” he murmured, collecting a small pouch from one of Gaius shelves. Mithian looked at it questionably when he passed it to her. “It’s lavender, put it under your pillow, it might help you to drift off.”

“Thank you.” The sincere relief in her voice was enough to make Merlin smile and shrug his shoulders in embarrassment. 

Her hand slipped into his and he helped her to stand, she wasn’t quite steady on her feet and Merlin used that as his excuse for keeping hold of her hand all the way to the door. He pulled the door open for Mithian to depart, damping down the odd twinge in his gut when their hands fell apart.

She turned at the doorway, close enough that the warmth from her body seeped into his skin, making his heart beat rabbit-fast in his chest. He swallowed and forced his gaze away from her lips to her eyes.

“Do you have some for yourself?” Her eyes weren’t a much better focus of his attention, sparking bright and intelligent. 

“First I have to decide whether I’m tired enough to withstand Arthur’s taunts that I smell like a girl all day tomorrow.”

Mithian gave him a small smirk, and before she could leave he caught hold of her hand, lifting the knuckles to his lips in a kiss much the same as Arthur’s wedding. It had the intended result, the smile this time less shocked and more fond. 

Mithian bestowed a small squeeze to their connection. “Sweet dreams, Merlin.”

“And you too princess.”

Perhaps the princess had a latent magical talent, because when Merlin’s head hit his pillow a few minutes later his eyes drifted automatically into sleep, his dreams filled with pale pastels, flowing dresses, stolen kisses and a pleasant burning in his chest. 

*

Mithian slowly rose to waking, the early morning sunshine already risen and shining through her window.

That woke her up - It was morning? 

She looked over to her chamber’s table to see that Clarrisa had already been, a small breakfast laid out and today’s clothes hung by the screen. 

Mithian let out happy bark of laughter and fell against her pillows: she’d slept, for most of the night. Feeling a hand under her pillow she looked at the little miracle pouch. She fiddled with the little package, tied neatly together at the top with a purple bow and her face lit with a giddy smile. 

She felt rested, and excited, abut nothing in particular except the day ahead.

Still holding the small gift of lavender, she stared at it every few seconds with a smile, as finished her morning meal. Then there was a small knock at the door. She waited for Clarrisa to enter, the girl always gave a small knock before entering, but no one came. 

Intrigued, Mithian rose, opened the door, and peered around it. 

Merlin stood on the opposite side, his arms held loosely behind his back. She felt her perpetual morning smile grow.

“Morning Merlin,” she said, leaning against the half open door.

“Princess.” He said, dipping his head in a bow, a teasing smile on his lips. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very, thank you.”

“It was nothing, really.” They just smiled at each for a moment before Merlin blinked and shook his head. “I came to see – well… What are your plans for today?”

“I was due to have lunch with the queen. Why? Do you have a better proposition?” Mithian tilted her head coyly. 

Merlin smiled cheekily, his eyes fixing on hers from beneath his long lashes. “I thought perhaps you would like to see the Real Camelot.”

*

Merlin led their way through the town out onto the well-trodden paths to the forest. Mithian gave him a shrewd look when he pulled back a branch of the trees, gesturing for her to go in first, but lead forward wordlessly, taking his offered hand in support.

Once the branch had fallen back into place, and they were alone in the un-pathed greenery of the trees, Merlin let their hands twine together and forced himself not to think anything past the fact that he liked it, that Mithian’s hand felt so tiny and fragile in his, he was just supporting her, in case she should fall.

They talked, about mundane things, important things, all things, until the soft hum of music and voices drifted toward them.

Merlin grinned, giving Mithian’s hand a tug, spurring her along. “We’re here.”

They emerged in a clearing and it was like being transported to another world. A burning fire sat at the centre and people, throngs of people danced around it. There were smaller fires off to the side, a boar was roasting on a spit, and a man poking and turning it every now and again with a large stick. A gaggle of children ran past giggling, causing Merlin and Mithian to take a step back.

Merlin watched Mithian stare wide-eyed around the scene and couldn’t help but mirror her delighted jubilation. 

“This is the real Camelot,” Merlin announced, watching Mithian as she watched the people. “These are the people who live and work and die within the walls. They’ve lived through Uther and now Arthur, and some may live to see whoever comes next. Without them there would be no Camelot.”

“What are they doing?”

“Celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?” Mithian asked, her mind obviously going back to the carnage and loss of the week previous.

“As hard as Uther may have tried, he couldn’t wipe out years of traditions. They’re celebrating their own lives and the lives of the ones they’ve lost. They come out to the forest to be closer to nature and to the earth where their family’s spirits rest.”

“This is…” Mithian trailed off but her smile and the watery sheen to her eyes said enough. 

“They’ve gone through a lot, lost loved ones and homes, but they’re still here, and they will be here long after we’ve all gone.”

Mithian looked at Merlin now, a bemused look on her face like she was seeing him for the first time. Merlin quickly gave it a surreptitious wipe just to make sure he hadn’t left breakfast on there when a chorus of little voices called out.

“Merlin! Merlin! Merlin!” He turned to see a huddle of little girls, their hair trailing out behind them as they ran towards him. “Merlin! Merlin! Will you do a trick for us! Please! Please!”

Merlin paused to give Mithian a small apologetic shrug before going to his knee. Annabelle the cook’s daughter, as well as Mary and Charlotte made up the little group, and their eyes lit up excitedly as he cupped his hands one over the other. 

With a flourish he opened them; leaving three perfect daisies sitting in his palm. As expected they all squealed and ran off as one, their flowers clutched tightly in hand. 

He glanced at Mithian, rising and brushing the dirt from his knees to find her watching him with a sweet smile on her face. 

“So you can conjure flowers now?” she asked, an amused eyebrow raised. 

Merlin chortled. “It’s amazing what you can get away with when people are looking in the wrong direction.” 

He held one hand out in a flourish in front of him, as expected Mithian’s eyes focused on the hand, not noticing how his eyes flared gold. And with a twist of a wrist, he produced a perfect rose between his thumb and forefinger. 

Mithian nodded but he could see her trying to hide the wonderment on her face. “A man of many talents.”

“I am the King of misdirection.” He leant forward, placing his flower carefully behind Mithian’s ear, she turned her head obligingly and Merlin tucked it into her locks, trailing his fingers down her hair once it had fallen into place.

They were close again. That seemed to be happening a lot, and Merlin wished it wouldn’t because he never knew where to look and it made his hands sweat and his heart race and his skin tingle with the need to reach out. He looked down, her lips were right there, so red and soft looking. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to lean down, lean in just a few inches and her lips would be against his. He had only kissed a handful of girls but he knew that Mithian’s lips would be wonderful, and she would fit so snug and safe against his body. 

He pulled back hastily, realising that he was leaning, and that he was a servant and she a princess and they were in a field full of over-excited people. 

Mithian’s face dropped slightly but she tugged a smile back on her face quickly enough for Merlin to pretend he hadn’t seen it. There was an awkward pause that Merlin was desperately trying to remember how to fill when the music changed and Mithian’s face changed again, her eyes crinkling in mischief. 

Stepping back fully, she held out a hand, leaning down in a formal bow. “May a Lady have this dance?”

Merlin laughed, glancing round at the men and women racing around the clearing to the upbeat tempo. “Do you not remember what I told you about me and dancing?”

“I am sure I can whip you into shape.”

“Oh I’m sure you can.” Merlin chortled. 

Mithian’s smile turned deadly wicked and she grabbed Merlin’s hand, pulling him into her and turning them into a spin before he had chance to do little more than let out a surprised yelp. 

Their bodies pressed together and Mithian led them around the fire, spinning and laughing, breathless after the first minute but they kept going. Merlin could feel very inch of their bodies that touched from their hands to where their legs were slotted together; he quickly pulled back, his cheeks blushing, careful not to let her feel how his body was enjoying this. Mithian shot him a confused looked so he slipped his hand down to the bottom of her back, holding them steady in place against each other and skipped them into another song.

*

When they finally returned to Camelot it was late afternoon and Mithian couldn’t wipe the, no doubt unladylike, grin from her face. They had detangled hands once they’d left the forest but Merlin was still close by her side, so that their shoulders brushed with every step. 

This closeness without touching made her tremble inside, her body itching to get closer. But soon the walls of Camelot curled around them and she was aware of Merlin furthering their distance when everything inside Mithian screamed for exactly the opposite. 

They had just entered the courtyard when Merlin stiffened beside her. “Uh oh,” he mumbled.

Suddenly Merlin was nowhere in sight and a red faced King Arthur was marching towards her. His eyes scanned the immediate area rather wildly and Mithian had a small moment to be worried about the mental health of Camelot’s ruler before he spoke in a low tone.

“Where is he?”

“Pardon?” 

“Merlin! Where is he? I saw him, he was right here!”

Mithian gave the Merlin-less cobbles around her a significant look. “Well I don’t see him now. Perhaps you were mistaken my Lord.”

“No.” Arthur scowled, peering over her shoulder as if his manservant were hiding behind her skirts. “I definitely…” He trailed off, scanning the mostly empty courtyard before focussing back on Mithian. “Um – you have…” He gestured around his head. Mithian automatically lifted a hand to her hair, coming away with Merlin’s rose from behind her ear. 

She pressed her lips together to smother her smile at the crisp red rose twisting between her fingers. But thankfully King Arthur was already distracted again, scowling suspiciously at all the dark shadows around the courtyard. 

“No matter, I will find him soon. And when I do he is IN BIG TROUBLE!” Arthur shouted, staring around him, perhaps hoping that the threat would scare his manservant out from wherever he’d disappeared to. 

Soon the king left with a growl, his red cape trailing behind him. As quickly as he disappeared Merlin was suddenly at her elbow again making her startle.

“How did you do that?”

Merlin gave her a mysterious grin. “I told you - misdirection.”

Mithian opened her mouth but was cut off by an angry holler across the stones. “MERLIN!”

“Oh dear” Merlin intoned, watching as the red-faced king now fought his way back across the courtyard towards them. “Run!”

He grabbed her hand and then they were flying through the castle walkways, servants and nobles jumping from their way, some with exasperated grins and some with tuts, but Mithian felt as she were going too fast to be recognised, just a blur against the masonry. 

They came to a halt, panting in a narrow dark corridor, its entrance partly hidden by a suit of armour. Distantly she could still hear Arthur’s yells and threats floating through the walls. “What did you do?” she chuckled, clutching her side.

“I may not have expressly asked his permission for the day off.” Merlin shrugged sheepishly.

Mithian rolled her eyes and gave Merlin’s arm a swat, making him chuckle. He continued to mumble about physical violence among royalty when Mithian heard a familiar voice marching towards them. 

She pressed forward, cupping her hand over Merlin’s mouth just in time to stop his drivel before Arthur passed them by. 

The king paused for a minute looking left and right before continuing on. She sagged against her leaning surface as soon as the threat had passed; only belatedly realising that the surface she was resting on was Merlin.

He looked back at her with wide eyes, his chest moving fast beneath her where her breasts had pushed against him. She stared back, her skin feeling too tight on its small frame.

“Come on,” she said, pulling her hand back from Merlin’s lips to clutch at his hand. “I know where you can hide where the King will not find you.”

*

After lots of hysterical ducking and diving and hiding they made it to their destination intact. It wasn’t until Mithian had closed the door behind him that Merlin seemed to notice where she had taken him.

He stared around her chambers with wide eyes, Mithian was about to tease him about never seeing the inside of a maid’s chambers when he stepped forward, his hands going towards the parchment pinned to the wall.

“I didn’t know you drew.”

“Ah – Yes.” Mithian belatedly realised that her most recent creations were all pinned haphazardly around the room, to the wardrobe, by her mirror, to the walls. They were all correct, anatomically and graphically, but they all lacked something. In her days of little sleep previous she had been focused on finding what that something was. 

Joining him she watched as Merlin ran a long hand reverently across the lines her own hands had made on the page. Just lines individually, but when brought together could create something magnificent.

“I’ve been trying to perfect my hands.” Mithian touched the recent sketch she had done of Clarrisa and Peter, so absorbed in each other that they hadn’t noticed the princess and her scribble of charcoal on parchment. “They are a fascinating part of the body, so functional and versatile. They can wield weapons or sew silk. Just think; without them what would you do – you couldn’t write, or eat, or pick up a glass. I couldn’t paint-”

“Or fight with a sword.”

“If that is what you enjoyed then yes… Your hands ...” Mithian didn’t stop herself from reaching out, dragging Merlin’s long cool outstretched hand into her own, running the pads of her fingers down each of the elegant digits. “They work, all day, yet they are graceful, almost regal. They sharpen swords and haul buckets... but I am sure they would be gentle.” She could feel the tremors through the appendage she held, could hear the click of Merlin’s throat as he swallowed heavily. But he wasn’t pulling away, and she wouldn’t stop unless he did. “...but they would be strong too.”

 

Gently, slowly, as if she were daring him to pull away, she lifted the pads of his fingers to her lips, pressing the tips the moist skin. She could taste the salty flavour of his skin, felt the way the callouses rubbed against her lip.

“Mithian…” Merlin whispered.

She looked up, their faces mere fractions from each other, she could feel the moist air from each of his breaths, coming short and fast from his chest. 

“What?” She stared defiantly back. She was tired of this game, this push and pull, a game of strategic retreats and pointless conversations. “We are just spending time together. What is so important that you can’t be here, right now? Here with me?”

Merlin stared into her eyes, a battle raging between them both and behind his own. But then it broke, the hurdle behind his gaze suddenly leapt and his lips were touching hers. 

Mithian’s brain had a short circuit repeat of ‘oh yes…’ before it clocked back in and allowed her to feel it.

It was gentle at first, as light as his fingers had been before. She allowed him to explore, to rub their lips together, with slight hesitancy, bringing a trembling hand to touch lightly at the waist of her dress, a warm weight through the heavy fabric. His lips were as full and soft as she had imagined of a night alone. 

Her hand drifted unconsciously to grip at his tunic, just an anchor to keep her feet tethered as her mind floated away. 

But then it changed, that grip seemed to set a blast off somewhere in the universe and their lips came together harder, faster. His hands, no longer hesitant, moved up and round, holding tight to her back and waist, those hands that had been so long and slender, felt suddenly and wonderfully large and strong, pulling her body in tight to his own.

She gasped when they came together and that long hard body finally pressed fully up against her, pushed against her erect nipples and belly, and their tongues touched. It wasn’t like anything she’d ever felt before, it was wet, and odd but Mithian just wanted more. 

Mithian gave into her instincts, the ones she had been fighting all day. Her hand slid up into Merlin’s hair, pulling his head round and letting their tongues tangle more fully as they lapped at each other’s mouths. Merlin groaned, the hands around her back pulling them impossibly closer and then they were moving, backwards, backwards, until her back and buttocks hit something solid. Her lust-addled mind belatedly recognised it as a wall, but she was too engrossed in the marvellous pressure it allowed to pay much mind.

Their lips and hands lifted their pace, each frantic with the need for more. Mithian’s royal etiquette had flown out the window at the first touch of their lips, or maybe it had been in that first dance around the fire, or perhaps it was the first night their skin met, the night of the wedding when Mithian’s whole world expanded. 

Merlin’s hands were grappling now, for more touch, more skin. They reached her skirts, and tugged up until the puffy material brushed the tops of her thighs. Here against a wall, a gorgeous man pressed against her, she felt like one of those maidens in the more racy books she read, the stable hand meeting her in the barn after midnight…

She shook off the thought, this wasn’t some nameless boy, this was Merlin, with his kind eyes and his bright smile and his…oh… Mithian felt her head thunk back against the stone, now the only thing holding her up… his strong fingers, which were trailing up the inside of her thigh, the skin there thin and sensitive even through her cumbersome undergarments. As they trailed higher she felt her womanhood tremble, in seeming anticipation for something she couldn’t comprehend. 

His large hand cupped her and all breath left her chest in a ragged sigh. It felt so different when it wasn’t her own hand amongst the lonely bed sheets. And she had been right; those fingers were strong, and gentle. They pressed against her opening, pushing gently as far as the thin material would allow, his thumb rubbing carefully against her front, at the small bundle that never failed to send jolts down her spine. 

When she let out a small whimper Merlin groaned. He pushed harder against her and pressed his body against her own, tucking his face into her neck. Mithian could feel the long hot outline of his manhood pressing to her hip, the heat seeping through the rolls of her dress. She could imagine it now - she had listened when her nurse told her of the ways of a husband and wife, at the time she could only flinch, but now… she couldn’t think she of anything she wanted more than feeling him moving inside her, as close as any two people could hope to be.

She opened her legs wider, the image of them moving together in her mind. She had soaked her undergarments now, the wetness from her leaking through onto Merlin’s fingers but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was trembling, head to toe. Merlin’s free hand tangled with her own above her head, her hands held steady against the wall as he massaged her.

Mithian turned her head, now panting against Merlin’s cheek. “Please...” she whispered. She didn’t know what she meant; please don’t stop or, please let us be together or just please please please, until the world imploded. 

It seemed Merlin could understand her better than she could herself because he turned his head and captured her lips again. And that was all she seemed to need. 

The press of his heat against her, his oh so capable hands probing and his lips on hers. 

She felt the world rip and remake itself around her. White hot pleasure bubbling through her from where Merlin’s hands explored, to the hairs on her head and back again, making her insides clench impossibly tight. The world went white for a moment and when she opened the eyes she hadn’t realised she had closed, she saw the sparklingly blue eyes of Merlin staring back. 

He panted and his own shoulders trembled. His hand dropped and Mithian’s skirts dropped back down and his body slumped against her own. She automatically lifted her hands, one cradling his head and one pulling them together so she could feel the warmth of his body against her own, breathing in his scent. 

*

They stood, leaning on each other and the valuable wall for a few breaths, whether it was two or twenty Mithian didn’t know, she was still fighting through the faint ringing in her ears when she felt Merlin’s lips moving against her neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Mithian felt a tired smile pull at her lips; she carded her hands through his black locks absently. “Don’t be, I wanted it too.”

He shook his head against her neck, seeming to push closer to her, hiding his face in her skin. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing that hasn’t been done before by young people tired with the rules of courting.”

“That’s what…” Merlin pulled back, troubled eyes darting around the room. “Mithian, I can’t court you.”

She felt the cold absence of where his body had been a moment ago. “What?” 

“You’re a princess, Mithian. And Arthur…” Merlin shook his head running a hand through his hair, “I’m just the king’s servant.”

Mithian shook her head, straightening up from the wall, not quite believing what she was hearing. All the warm and sated happiness within her a moment ago draining suddenly, leaving her feel cold and grey. “You can’t possibly be saying that your position is an obstacle. Merlin: the patron saint of true love. Arthur and Queen Guinev-“

“But it’s different for them,” Merlin interrupted, beginning to pace the room. “For one: the servant in this case is male. There is no possible way I could provide for you.”

“You wouldn’t need to provide anything for me,” she implored, reaching out a hand to him. “I have a castle full of things I have no want or need for!”

Merlin stared at Mithian’s outstretched hand. She could read the longing in his gaze and her heart begged for him just to take it. He took a step back. “I’m not my own man Mithian; I cannot just make decisions based on the whims of my heart and hope it works out alright.”

“You seemed quite happy to follow ‘your hearts’ desires a moment ago!” Mithian raged, her blood bubbling to the surface of her face, tinging it red. 

Merlin hung his head, hands resting loosely on his hips. “And I told you I was sorry.”

Mithian felt like her euphoric afternoon and future were crumbling away from her, slipping through her hands like sand with no way to stop it and no explanation as to why.

“Please Merlin, we should at least.... you can’t just give up on this, on me, because of simple barriers.”

“Simple?” he intoned, raising an incredulous eyebrow. “In what world do you believe that I would be able to afford the dowry your father would ask for you?”

“I’m sure Arthur would help-“

“Ask Arthur for money so his bumbling servant can marry a princess?” Merlin scoffed, an awful sound that made Mithian frown. “I think I know what his reaction would be to that.”

“You think that Arthur would disapprove?”

“It doesn’t matter Mithian because it. Cannot. Happen.”

“My Lady?” They both whirled from their confrontation to see Clarrisa poke her head around the door, Merlin quickly pulled back from their casual closeness and his face backed up behind a cheerful mask. Mithian felt herself seethe at the sight. “I can come back later.”

“No!” Merlin interrupted. “No need Clarrisa, I was just leaving. Have a good day princess.”

He left. Mithian didn’t watch his retreat, her eyes focused on the rose now littering her chamber floor. She listened to the door close in his wake.

*

Merlin’s feet moved. That much he was aware of. They moved fast and unconsciously, taking his body further and further away from that room, what he had just walked away from. 

He kept his head down, barely paying attention to where his feet were leading him, just ‘away’ was enough. 

Then finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore, he stopped. Perhaps he should have found somewhere hidden and dark with solitude but he couldn’t go any further.

He rested his head against the cool stone and clenched his jaw. It was no use though. Tears began to leak from each eye, running unchecked down each cheek.

Being hit in the chest with a fire ball hadn't hurt as much as he did at the moment.

“Merlin!”

Merlin startled at Arthur’s call, he swiftly wiped at his face with his sleeve, removing any tracks on his skin and turned to his king. He was sure his eyes were red with evidence of his sadness and thought his heartbreak so deep that it must show on his face. But, luckily the king was too enraged to notice.

“You!” he seethed, coming forward to Merlin, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and dragging him down the corridor. Usually Merlin would struggle, just for show really, but this time it was quite nice to be able to focus on the odd burn of his neckerchief pulling against his neck and the awkward angle. 

“Running off without leave, to the tavern again I am sure, no explanation, no notice and I get saddled with George throughout my entire council session!”

“Sorry, My Lord,” Merlin mumbled, eyes on Arthur’s leather heels as they came one after the other into his vision. 

“Well you definitely will be sorry after you see the list of chores I have for you.”

Arthur handled him roughly over the threshold to the king’s chambers, grinning madly at the thought of causing Merlin grief. Merlin couldn’t really care what Arthur made him do, it couldn’t possibly hurt worse than the pain he had just brought upon himself.

*

Merlin was glad for Arthur’s extra chores, though he was aware of the king’s less than pleased mood at his silent compliance to the mountain list of jobs that ‘absolutely had to be done before morning’. But it was no matter. It meant that Merlin’s mind was occupied and when he finally did meet the acquaintance of his bed it was late enough to collapse quickly into an exhausted sleep for a few hours before sunrise. 

Not thinking about it helped.

After Merlin’s experience with loss he had perfected this mind stance where he was present and could perform simple task required of his station, but his mind was shut down, a soothing pit of nothing.

It worked after Will, Freya, Balinor, Morgana, Uther, the dragon attack; the guilt and the grief were pushed away, far down under a locked hatch, the Merlin-shell walking around, but empty.

And it was grief; an internal emotional response to loss. 

His heart had known the moment the words left his mouth what he had just given away. But it was over the subsequent days that his mind caught up. 

Mithian was nowhere he could see. He used to bump into her at least once a day, either to exchange some words or just a smile, but either way he would follow her graceful body with his eyes until she would look back with a shy smile before disappearing from sight. 

Now there was just… nothing. The same faces, the same chores, the same rigor and routine that he had followed every day since he arrived within the white stone walls. 

He’d learnt enough from past experience to smile and poke at Arthur every now and then, but it was like a bright curtain had been pulled over the window to a dungeon, hiding the gloom within. Every smile he grimaced felt fake, every jabbing insult felt forced, but it got him through the day without question.

And he returned back to his chambers at night, which seemed even more sparse and small than the day before, and flopped onto his bed. Sometimes sleep came, sometimes it didn’t, but he laid there until the first flecks of sun tinged the horizon.

Whenever he allowed his mind it would wander; to the pink rose on pale cheeks, to thin elegant arms wrapped in fur, a tinkling laugh like bells. He wondered where Mithian was, what she was doing, imagined her clever fingers creating a picture or flicking the pages of a book in the gardens, wondered whether she was feeling the same pike through her chest that he was. Then he would get the inexplicable urge to drop the gauntlet or sword he was polishing and find her and just grab on and not let go.

Then he would bite his cheek and force it all back down again, focus on the murky shine on the metal in his hands and wait for the day to be over.

*

Mithian’s moods cycled like the seasons. The icy chill of hatred, the thawing warmth of longing, the burning feeling of anger, decaying into heartache, her joyous afternoon falling and crumbling like the autumn leaves.

But all the way through was the cloying feeling of disbelief, that she had allowed this to happen to her again. That she had put her heart out there, again, and it had been rejected, again.

It shot through her, a sharp sting amongst the ache in her heart. 

It wasn’t until she was attempting to avoid Merlin that she realised actually how easy that was, and realised how often she had actually sought out the servant during the day.

It made her throat go tight and tears sting her eyes.

It wasn’t like Arthur. Sure she had felt embarrassment, and the hearty slap of rejection. But this was worse, because what she had felt had been true and warm and exciting, and mirrored right back at her, and then taken. 

That cloying anger carried her right through until King Arthur’s next hunt. Apparently, according to Gwen, it was a bit of a celebration, a sign to Camelot’s people that the king felt comfortable enough leaving them to fend for themselves for a few days. 

So the standard close circle of knights and their king rode out of the courtyard one afternoon. Mithian calmly ignored the servant on the mare at the back of the pack as she watched from the balcony with Gwen. The crowds below waved and wished their good lucks, Gwen smiled brightly by her side and the mood of the castle lifted. 

That was until the group and their king were due back and there was no speck of red on the horizon. 

Two days passed, then three. Mithian spent her time attending court with the queen, gripping at her hand when she saw it tremble, distracting her when she stared from the window for too long. But it was all a distraction, for if Mithian thought too longingly on what her heart was screaming she would surely join it. 

Her nights were full of gasping nightmares, filled with lifeless pale faces and grotesque wounds hidden beneath brown jackets, waking bolt upright into Clarissa’s arms, soothing her nightmares away. All the while thinking that these arms are too short, too slender to comfort her really. 

It was nearing a week later when horse hooves in the courtyard sprung the queen from her council chair and down the stairs. Mithian stayed up on the balcony, peering down below with trepidation, afraid to get any closer.

She saw him ride in at the back of the pack and all her breath left her lungs at once, making her grab to the balustrade for support. She watched him amble neatly off his horse, leading both his and the king’s to the stable. Her legs were moving before she even knew it.

*

Merlin was tired and he ached, but for him that was basically his primary state so he gently ushered the horses back to their stables, each going in happy enough, glad to be home. Merlin stayed for a moment, running a distracted hand through Hengroen’s mane. The horses were quiet company, uncomplicated company, happy for Merlin to pet at them, sneak them an apple and be on his way. He blamed his distracted, tired state for not realizing he wasn’t alone any longer.

“You’re back.”

Merlin startled, Llamrei snuffing in annoyance when his hand tugged harshly through his hair. 

It was the first time Merlin had set eyes on Mithian since that night and the sight of her knocked the breath from his lungs. He had thought perhaps his brain had embellished his memory and made it brighter than reality, but seeing her stand before him now; she was more beautiful than his mind had remembered. 

“Yes.” He responded dumbly, belatedly realizing the princess had asked him a question.

“And you’re alright?” Mithian’s eyes wandered meaningfully up and down his body, Merlin knew what she was doing, searching for a hair out of place or injury, so he let his arms hang loosely and carefully at his side. 

“We’re all fine.” He intoned in a reassuring voice.

“You had us worried.” Mithian’s eyes finally finished their travels and landed on his eyes. Merlin swallowed.

“I am sorry we worried you.”

She frowned, her eyes zeroing in on something, and stepped forward, her hand reaching up to Merlin’s face. He stayed stock still, not daring to move a muscle as Mithian laid gentle fingers against his jaw, her narrowed eyes fixed on the spot where her finger tips touched.

“It’s just a scratch,” Merlin spoke, his voice slightly strangled. Mithian continued to stare at the graze, her fingers running excruciatingly above his oversensitive skin, “From when we were riding.”

Mithian’s ministrations lost their focus, her hand just stroking absently at the skin where Merlin’s jaw met his neck, sending shivers down his spine. Merlin didn’t say anything, just happy to bask in this light touch that wasn’t enough and all too much at the same time.

“I want to kiss you,” she whispered after a moment, so quiet that if the stable hadn’t been silent apart from Merlin’s overloud breathing he would have missed it. 

Mithian’s hard eyes flicked up and into his, he felt pinned in place, like a butterfly through the wings. “But it wouldn’t change anything would it?” Mithian asked. “You would let me kiss you, would kiss me back, and we may feel whole for a moment, and then you would go. To your life of washing and cleaning and I would go to my life of fancy dresses and court etiquette and nothing would change, would it?”

Her voice choked on the last few words and Merlin watched in pain as tears began to form behind her eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” He could say nothing else, nothing would change either of their positions, nothing would change his destiny and nothing could change the stinging pain. He opened his mouth to say more, a new variation on the same song but Mithian held up her hand for silence. 

He obeyed and let her put valuable distance between their skin, until he couldn’t feel the heat of her body clawing and calling for him.

“Don’t” she spoke lowly. “I am glad you are alright, but just - don’t.”

Then she was gone. Merlin sank against the stable door for a moment before Llamrei reminded him of her presence, her nibbles to his hair a demand for apples and that he could at least offer. 

*

She blamed the copious wine, or the tasteless leg of meat on her plate that was impossible to eat. Or perhaps it was the fact that today was the first time she had allowed herself to look at Merlin since that day, his neck covered and his shirt sleeves rolled to reveal the lean strength of his arms, the tendons tensing and cording as his hands gripped the jug. 

Mithian took another sip of her wine and forced her eyes away.   
She’d been forgetting; the smell of him and the feel of his skin against her fingers, it’d been fading from her mind, and now it was back and it was all she could think about. She gritted her teeth against the frustration of her hard work undone.

Maybe she just blamed this feast. A hearty pat on the back to Sir Leon for felling a troublesome beast from the forest, it now sat flavorlessly on Mithian’s plate. The night was barely half through and she could feel the clouding of the wine at the corners of her brain. 

“It’s just terribly romantic.” Lady Fletcher was gushing, nestled rather closely into Sir Leon’s side. She was staring at the king and Guinevere, their hands laying entwined on the table top, they had barely been apart since the party had returned. Arthur just grinned and tightened his hold on his queen.

Mithian sat beside Sir Elyan, who she felt eternally sorry for, but she couldn’t turn to the poor knight and explain that normally she would be delighted to talk with him but tonight she was just too busy drowning her heartbreak to enter into meaningless conversation. So she sat leant back from the table, allowing the knight to converse with his friends around. 

“It’s a pain in the arse is what it is.” Sir Percival grumbled, his voice slurred with ale. “You don’t understand; maids everywhere, all hours of the day, in various states of dress-“

“Opportunity, Percival!” Gwaine crowed and the crowd burst into laughter, Percival aiming a swat at the rogue knight.

Sir Elyan leant forward in his laughter, his hand coming to rest against the back of Mithian’s chair. It was innocent enough, just a man securing his verticality, but Mithian caught a flash from the corner of her eye. Merlin’s eyes had zeroed in on them, the knight of Camelot leaning against the space of princess. It was hardly the most improper position she’d found herself in in recent days but she could feel the vibrations of the knight’s chuckle through her chair. 

Her simmering anger, pining, and resentment mixed with the wine running freely through her system with little resistance, and churned into something darker.

“Well I think it is delightful.” Everyone turned to look at Mithian. She let her eyes gaze around her peers, sharp despite the wine. “I admire it, I do. But I do wonder…” she swirled her wine thoughtfully in her cup. “If the same privilege would be passed to all your subjects?”

“Of course.” The queen erupted, her face shining with a grin, “Camelot is to be a place where it doesn’t matter who you were born as, but who you hope to be!”

Mithian couldn’t help but smile at her friend, that she thought enough of the world that it was possible. “It’s poetic Gwen.” And she conceded, “So say, for instance, if… Merlin, were to marry royalty?”

“Merlin?” Arthur scoffed. “At least pick a more likely scenario princess. Why would a princess be marrying Merlin?”

Mithian caught the warning glare Merlin sent from under his lashes whilst pouring Arthur a drink. Warning – warning against what? That she would suddenly declare to the whole of the hall that yes, she had been fool enough to lay her heart out again without the excuse of kingdom behind it. She huffed out a bitter laugh, her eyes focused on the shadow fixed behind the king’s shoulder. 

“Why indeed.”

The knights and king erupted in laughter, echoing around the hall eased by the free flow of ale all night. But Mithian’s eyes were still fixed to the shadows.

She watched Merlin, his jaw clenched hard, his face titled down from the light, but she could clearly see the blush staining his cheeks. His eyes flashed to her own and she had to look away. Betrayal sparked within them.

Suddenly the feast didn’t seem so funny, and the wine sat heavy in her stomach. She had never thought herself spoilt before but this denial for something she craved was eating at her, gnawing away at her stomach. She needed to go. Not just from the hall, from Camelot.

*

Merlin watched Mithian’s retreating back, a pool of shame and anger swirling in his gut. He waited for Arthur to become distracted, it didn’t take long for Leon to start the story of the time they were almost skewered by a boar, and he made his escape. 

It wasn’t hard to get ahead, using servant slipways and almost running; he reached the corridor of Mithian’s chambers just as the princess was rounding the corner. 

“What good did you think that would do?” he hissed, advancing.

Mithian sighed and looked to the ceiling. She didn’t look shocked to see him, merely resigned. “Please spare me the lecture Merlin, I am tired.” 

“And Elyan, you can’t act like that around a knight or the courtiers will talk.”

“Act like what?” The princess didn’t seem as cautious about being overheard as Merlin was, her voice echoing off the bare stone walls around them. “Gods, you men are all the same. You have made it clear that nothing will happen between us so I don’t see what the problem would be. Perhaps you have your own maid hiding somewhere in the castle depths, who left you heartbroken and rebuffed, so you seek Mithian for your comfort.”

“It’s not like that!” The ‘this time’ went unsaid.

“No, right, you would prefer to be alone than to be with me. But that’s not it either; you would prefer to mope along after the king than be with me.”

Merlin seethed, pulling himself upright. “My private life has nothing to do with Arthur.”

Mithian huffed an incredulous laugh and rolled her eyes. “You tell me that if King Arthur weren’t around that you wouldn’t be stopping yourself and then I may agree with you.” 

“It is more complicated than that Mithian. You don’t understand.”

“You are right, I don’t understand. I don’t understand how them man I thought I loved turned out to be such a coward!”

Her voice held such vehemence that it felt like a slap. Merlin lent back, staggered by its blow. The worst thing you thought of yourself on the darkest night, dragged harshly into the light by someone you ‘loved’, that sounded about right. 

He swallowed. “… if that’s how you feel then I don’t know why we’re still having this conversation.”

Mithian stopped short before pulling herself back up. “Perhaps you are right. Goodbye then Merlin.”

She turned into her doorway; Merlin stared at the bared skin of her neck, his brain helpfully reminding him of how the smooth skin felt beneath his fingers so it took a while for his brain to catch up. “Wait – goodbye?”

Mithian peered at him over her shoulder, paused on the threshold to her room. She didn’t turn, Merlin only seeing a small corner of an eye and the plane of her cheek. “There doesn’t seem to be anything worth keeping me here. Clarrisa and I will be leaving as soon as we are able.” 

She swept the door closed, with the grace and poise and beauty that Merlin could never accomplish or hope to attain. The door snapping shut with a finality that turned Merlin’s chest to ice.

*

The king and queen took her news that she was to return to her home to deal with issues there with grace. Gwen embraced her, and made her promise to write. King Arthur gave her a tight smile, wishing her safe travels. Then they went back to their day, sat together at the king’s desk, heads bent together. 

Mithian went back to her chambers, leaning back on the closed door she surveyed the room, even before she began packing it felt utterly empty. Inexplicably tears prickled at the back of her eyes, she sniffed, swallowing the emotion back down and started the daunting task of dismantling this life she had begun to create.

She did it systematically, tearing down the sketches of Peter and Clarrisa holding hands, packing away the book Guinevere had given her, the cask of wine Sir Gwaine had gifted her when she got the bullseye. Merlin’s rose… 

It still held together red and firm even after all these days. She twirled its even stem between her fingers. It didn’t look real, an imitation of beauty, all its flaws swept clean. 

Night had fallen when there was a knock at the chamber door. She hastily dropped the flower amongst the shawls sprawled across her bed.

“Come in.” 

But when it opened she was met with the very face she was trying to escape. His tall stature seemed hunched and small, his blue eyes were dropping with sadness. Even now, after all that had happened she still wanted to go over to him, to sweep him in her arms and let him rest his weary head on her shoulder. 

Clearing her throat she looked away, fiddling with the mass of shawls before her. “What do you need Merlin?” 

“I’m sorry.”

Mithian huffed. “Well that’s something I have heard far too much in this week.” She folded all her wraps and shawls into one pile and moved them to her trunk. “Was that all?”

“No,” Merlin gritted. He had moved now to the centre of her room, the door swinging shut behind him. She tried not to notice, wished she didn’t notice but her eyes couldn’t help but be drawn to him. “You need to listen when I say it for it to mean anything!”

Mithian clenched her teeth and closed the trunk a little harder than necessary. “I hear sorry, I hear I can’t, and nothing ever seems to change. So please tell me what you hoped your visit would attain and then you can be on your way. Because I assure you, I’m listening now.”

Their eyes locked for a moment. She settled her stance, standing cross armed her face a careful scowl. Merlin broke away first, glancing nervously around the room, eyes lingering on the half packed trunk.

“Where’s ‘Risa?”

“At Peter’s, I let her have the night off to say her goodbyes,” Mithian replied, exasperated. She moved away from the trunk, feeling restless. She needed to keep moving, packing and clearing, it was better than being still

She let the accusation in her voice come through, because everyone in the room knew the reason she was leaving, knew the reason that Clarrisa was being forced to bid farewell to her young love. Mithian felt no guilt for putting that on Merlin. 

She moved over to the fire, hoping that if she ignored Merlin’s presence long enough he would just go, every glance of him tearing even further into her heart.

The fire had been burning since the sun made its first descent, the summer night not as warm as it had been previously. Mithian grabbed the kettle swinging above the fire.

“Let me help with that-“ 

Mithian caught sight of Merlin darting forward from his place in the centre of the room. “You will stay there, Merlin,” she ordered.

“No, let me-“ He reached, and she moved back.

The hot kettle dropped. 

Its boiling contents splashed towards Mithian’s unprotected skin. It was a moment of limbo, between the pain she knew was coming and the horror at her clumsiness. But then it stopped.

Mithian blinked at the kettle and water suspended in mid-air in an arch, steam still emitting from its frozen track.

And then she looked up. Merlin’s eyes were wide and fearful, his hand stretched out ahead of him. They both stared, neither moving nor speaking. Mithian wasn’t entirely sure if either had breathed. 

Then Merlin’s eyes flashed gold. She couldn’t help her gasp and the backwards step, an instinctive move away from the unknown. The water moved, impossibly streaming backwards into the mouth of the kettle, and then the whole thing came to rest gently on the floor.

For a moment the fire crackled, and the night was heavy outside the curtains and the kettle sat unmoving and unremarkable on the floor between them, as if nothing world-breaking had just occurred. Then time seemed to catch up.

“You… magic?” Mithian whispered.

“Mithian-“ he whispered back. The hand that had stopped time reached out towards her, pleading. But she stepped back, trying not to wince at the flash of hurt that crossed Merlin’s face. “Yes,” he whispered in the end, his head hanging low. 

There were so many questions running through Mithian’s head. So many implications of that single utterance. She stared wide-eyed at the man she thought she had known and let her knees go, lucky that the bed had been there to catch her fall. “Why?” she asked in the end.

Merlin stood, staring right at her as if he could see through her, his body slumped in defeat from head to toe. As defeated as he seemed Mithian could see now, what she had seen from the beginning but could not name. His eyes bore into her as if every molecule of her existence was up for examination. And then he slumped, impossibly further, coming to rest on the bed beside her.

“Have you heard of Emrys?” he asked eventually, eyes fixed on the stone floor.

Mithian frowned at him, confused by the non sequitor. “The Druidic story?”

Merlin shook his head. “It’s a prophecy,” he spoke, his eyes rising coming to fix on Mithian’s own. “About the rise of a great king and his kingdom, and magic rising with it.”

Mithian knew the story; it had been a favourite of hers from her nurse. Dora had always told the tale when the night was fully drawn, the fire cackling low in the hearth, similar to tonight. Mithian allowed the soothing tones from her childhood to pass through her memory. A great kingdom, seeped in strife until the age of the Once and Future King who would unite and conquer. But none could be accomplished without his companion and trusted friend… Mithian gasped, the implication of those words and the meaningful stare of Merlin’s eyes coming together. 

“You are Emrys?” 

Merlin nodded carefully, resigned. “And now you see? I have to stay here. It is my destiny to protect Arthur, you don’t know how many times over he would be dead if I hadn’t been here.”

“The wyverns…”

So many things were making sense now, the wyverns the daisies, the rose… The hand she hadn’t even realised she’d clasped over Merlin’s squeezed, feeling the solid bones and soft skin beneath.

Merlin let out an unamused laugh. “And a few others to count… I should probably tell you I’m a dragon lord as well.”

“Anything else?” she tried to joke. But her laughter died at the solemn look on Merlin’s face, he laid a solid hand over their joined ones, sandwiching Mithian’s between his own.

“And I love you. I do… and I am sorry.”  
This time she listened, listened to the dread and deep sadness in his voice in each syllable, the way it was choked as he tried to hold back tears. And she believed him.

“We could try to make it work-“  
“You’re a true princess.” Merlin shook his head, his eyes becoming too bright. “If we were to do anything I would want to do it right. And if we were married and came together, I think it would tear my soul in two to not see you every day.”

There wasn’t much Mithian could respond to that, because it was true. If she finally had him, felt what it was like to truly be his she could not leave, she could not return home. And she knew now that Merlin could not follow.

They sat for a moment, their hands entwined, their knees touching, this new truth sitting between them and just felt it all.

But the fire still crackled, and the night still hung and she still had to leave come morning.

“What do we do?” she asked, her whispering voice cracking.

“What we were planning to do. I’ll stay here, make sure the prat stays alive long enough to build this magnificent land, and you…” Merlin took a fortifying sigh and gripped her hands ever tighter. “-will return home. But with the knowledge that you were loved, truly and that you will be for the rest of your days.”

She stared at him, this magnificent, selfless man before her, with (if the legends were to be believed) the power of the world at his feet, and knew he loved her. No question, no reason, no gain, just pure unadulterated love. Mithian felt the thin barricades she had built up around her begin to crack and tears sprung from her eyes. 

Merlin smiled, a sad lonely smile, and brought his hand to her cheek, sweeping a thumb against her skin. “Don’t cry, princess.”

And that just made the tears come faster. She leaned into his hand, absorbing its warmth into her skin, knowing that these would be the last precious moments they would spend together.

“You told me, that destiny would have something grand planned for me.” She choked

“Perhaps it will lead you to something grander.”

Mithian brought her own hand to Merlin’s cheek, mirroring his movements as a tear scaled his cheek. “Grander than Emrys… I don’t think it can be done.”

Merlin closed his eyes, his clenched jaw cradled in Mithian’s hand. He took a deep breath and pressed his lips hard to Mithian’s palm, as if he could leave the indentation of his kiss there. 

Before he could depart or she cold think better of it, her hand moved to cradle the back of his neck. He came forward easily until their lips met. There was no gentleness this time. Their lips pushed against each other, trying get as much as possible from the other. 

Her hand gripped at his hair, holding the silky locks tight between her fingers. His hand had travelled backwards, cupping her ear, the tips of his fingers tangled with her hair, anchoring himself to her. 

She wanted to stay like that forever for she knew what would come when they parted. And soon enough he pulled back, breath gasping. They stayed, foreheads together, sharing each other’s air, and then he pushed forward once more, brushing the most tender of kisses against her lips. It brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes, knowing what that kiss meant. 

He pulled away. Mithian kept her eyes closed, not wanting the last image she had of her love to be of his back, and when she opened them she was alone.

*

The scene seemed to mirror of her departure previously, the hoard and minions of Camelot out in force to bid farewell, though they seemed less subdued than before. 

She could hear their claps and cheers and she did as she did before, deafening even as she stood behind the tall oak doors.

She pulled on her bland mask, ignoring the hustle around her preparing the royal couple for the entrance. When the doors opened, Mithian straightened her skirts and descended the steps,away from her future and towards uncertainty.

But the pain this time, pulling in her chest: that was new. An all-encompassing sharp sting that bled when poked at. So she focused on one foot after the other, Clarrisa already waiting, mounted ahead.

Arthur and his queen descended the steps with their hands entwined. They smiled at their loving people surrounding them, and gave the crowd a wave which spurred a loud cheer. Mithian stared ahead at her horse, her feet feeling heavier with every step.

The party was small, just Mithian and Clarrisa and a small contingent of Camelot knights to escort her to the border. She allowed an un-named knight to lift her up to her steed, his hands tight around her waist, but Mithian felt nothing. 

Mithian pulled her veil to cover her face, thankful that she wouldn’t have to force a smile. She waved mechanically to the passing crowds; they were a passing blur. Just before the parade trotted past the castle gates she looked back.

He was just a speck of red and blue in the crowds, but she knew he was there. One tear escaped her stinging eyes and she turned her back. And went home. 

*

Mithian’s welcome back to Nemeth was as expected. Children lined the steep path to the castle walls, the path beneath her horse’s feet dark stone rather than Camelot’s white; everyone smiling and throwing small flowers into her path. 

She had loved Camelot, its brightness and magical essence, but as she watched the tall turrets of her father’s castle come closer as she ascended the mountain, she realised that she missed her home.

Their small group came through the castle gates, a welcoming party already waiting for them on the smooth grey stones.

Her mother reached her first, cupping Mithian’s cheeks and smiling in inspection. Mithian was then doubly assaulted by the arms of her brothers, Bediviere’s reaching a bit higher than Kay’s, and then her father, smiling kindly down on her, enclosed her in his arms. She allowed herself to rest her head quickly against the rough fur draped on his chest before she was held at arm’s length.

“Our daughter has returned,” he shouted to the crowds. “Tonight is a celebration.”

Nemeth’s large hall was filled to the brim with happy conversation, wine and the crackling of the large fires. Mithian had also missed the food. Although she had little appetite of late, the thick soup warmed her stomach, making her a little sleepy and sated. 

She absently listened to her brothers’ bickering, each trying to tell the same tale with widely different details. Mithian rested her head on her hand, watching them with a fond smile. 

Mithian tried to join in as she had done in times gone by,to tease each of them until the story broke down into laughter and taunts only to be stopped by their father’s fond recriminations. But she couldn’t, everything felt far away and distant, as if she were the spectator of this production called life.

Her mother looked at her over the dinner table that night, a familiar shrewd look on her face. 

“You’ve grown,” she stated half way through their meat, startling Mithian from where she had been absently staring at the flickering candle upon the table.

“I hardly think I will be getting much taller mother,” Mithian chuckled, glancing away from the scrutiny.

“No… that’s not it.” 

Her mother continued to look at her with a look of someone reading a text they couldn’t quite understand. Luckily Bediviere began the tale of their victorious summer hunt, lamenting that Mithian had not been able to join. The conversation swiftly moved on, but Mithian could feel her mother’s eyes on her the rest of the night.

*

When morning broke the next day Mithian was asleep in her old bed, her usual view through her windows and the normal breakfast filling her table. She sighed and pushed herself back into the pillows. The rush of images playing over from her dreams were too bright and painful to investigate, so she pushed them down, covered them with a bland smile and pulled herself out of bed.

Mithian settled back into the life she had known here for years, the familiar faces and halls and rooms. 

But every time she stopped, every time her mind had space to wander, it did. Filling her silent moments with heart-wrenching grief for a life she wasn’t allowed to have. Her father had always taught her that knowledge was the key to any hurdle, that the more you knew on a subject the easier your challenge would be. 

So in the quiet moments between charming the court and helping her mother run the household, Mithian sequestered herself in the library. She trailed the isle, filled to the rafters with texts, seeking every text, every scroll, every prophecy written hastily on discarded parchment, soaking all the information it held. 

She told herself it was just research, just knowledge, that it was useful to have, but every mention of the name ‘Emrys’ sent a thrill through her spine, the childhood image she had painted of a wizened sorcerer morphing into a man, strong and sure, with wide solid hands, brilliant gold dancing through his eyes.

Every time she saw the name splashed carelessly across a page, sometimes even years before her father was born, she felt an inexplicable surge of pride, that this man, however great, had been hers for a moment in time.

And then she would remember the rest and the pain would return. She would put the book back and retreat to her brothers’ distracting presence until the next time.

*

One of her brother’s distractions came early morning in the form of Kay’s young squire knocking at her door. A few moments later and they were all congregated among the cobbles of the courtyard, a horse a piece and bow on their back.

Their mother waved them off with a well-meaning warning to be safe and then they flew.

They each pushed their mounts to the limit, sprinting through the dense forest surrounding their home, dodging trees and each other in their quest to come first. No one ever won this race, one by one their horses tired and they slowed until they were just three siblings, hunting amongst the trees.

“So do I need to pound him?”

Mithian turned to look quizzically at Bediviere. They were both sitting up on their horses, watching Kay and the squires struggle with a felled boar.

“What do you mean?”

“The king,” her brother practically spat. It was no secret the reason for her previous return from Camelot, where everyone had assumed she would stay and wed. And it was no secret to her family the blow to her pride it had been.

Mithian sighed and turned back to watch the spectacle, as Kay now tried to remove the spear from the beast’s side with very little progress. “King Arthur had nothing to do with my return.”

“You know that I would run him through if he had hurt you again.” He just sounded so earnest. And Mithian knew it was true, if she asked for it, both he and Kay would start all-out war over the state of her wellbeing. It was nice, and exactly what she needed, to surround herself with that unconditional, uncomplicated love that family brought. She sent him a fond smile.

“I missed you too, you oaf. Now go down there and help our dear brother if you ever want to get that meat home in one piece.”

*

Every year, before the weather turned, Nemeth held a tournament. It was called the Queen’s Tournament, each brave knight competing for the chance to be named the Queen’s Champion and be the guest of honour at the feast. As Mithian had gotten older it was her job to sit beside her mother above the playing fields, cheering on the knights and standing to offer congratulations. 

After she came of age the day unofficially became about her, a chance for knights to show off to Mithian, to be granted her favour for the day. It was all in good fun, Mithian bestowing her colours upon the knight she thought most worthy of the title and allowing them the auspicious privilege of accompanying her to the celebratory feasts. 

The king, along with Kay and Bediviere, never competed, Kay claimed that he had been forced to sit through years of feasts next to Mithian; this was his one chance for freedom. But the king and his sons always opened the day with a mini bout, two sons against one father. It was all in jest, and Bediviere and Kay let their father win every year. But when they had fallen dramatically to the sandy floor, Mithian’s father would bow deeply to the crowds and move to the royal box to accept his token and small kiss from his queen.

It was fun, every year there were new faces, the people loved it, they cheered and booed and waved flags. And the royal family always got caught up in the festivities. It was fun… Mithian kept having to remind herself that this year.

Mithian’s smile which was fragile at best, stuttered when her mother rose from her seat, leaning over the balcony of their raised platform, pressing a chaste kiss tothe king’s cheek. They pulled away from each other, smiling secretly, but the love and affection pouring between their eyes was open for everyone to see. Mithian swallowed and averted her eyes, that ever present chasm in her chest aching.

Mithian looked out to the awaiting knights, lined up ready to enter the field. She wondered if it would always be this way, if every show of affection and love between two people would make her chest ache, rife with jealousy.

She startled back to the present when her father called her name: she rose, giving him a loving kiss to his other cheek, congratulating him on his victory. Her smile never really recovered.

The rest of the day was nothing short of monotonous. Mithian and her mother usually made a game, picking their favourites from the introductions and secretly supporting them through the heats. But this year there were none who caught her eye. They were too big or too short, their hair was too short or too light, their nose too long or their attitude too smug. She knew that with each less than enthusiastic response, her mother’s frown upon her deepened. So she pasted a smile and picked one at random.

She didn’t bother looking too closely. She knew that there would be no one to interest her today no matter how hard she looked, because the one she wanted wasn’t here. 

Mithian’s knight got knocked out just after lunch. She smiled and offered her congratulations on a well fought campaign all the while her mothers eyes on her back stung like the hot sun. 

“Did he break your heart?”

Mithian turned her gaze from where she was watching nameless knight #3 beating #5 across the arena. Her mother’s gaze was heavy, a small frown between her eyebrows. Mithian no longer had it in her to be surprised at her mother’s insight. 

She thought back to his wretched voice when he explained he would have to let her go, to the trembling his hands, and the tears in his eyes. 

“We broke each other’s, I suppose.”

A knight won and escorted her to dinner. The next day Mithian wouldn’t have been able to pick him from a crowd.

*

“Merlin…. Merlin!”

Merlin started from his cross-legged seat amongst the long grass, staring at the full moon. Kilgharrah was crouched before him, his large scaled head cocked.

“Sorry.” Merlin shook his head clear. “I was miles away, what were you saying?”  
“Hmm,” the dragon murmured, his golden eyes piercing into Merlin, seeing through his muscle and bones down deep to the golden thread that joined them both. “I get the feeling you’re talking more literally. You still think of your princess?”

“Of course,” Merlin stated; there was no question. His eyes wandered off to Aithusia frolicking along the tree line. “Every day.” 

Silence fell between them, only the noise of the night and Aithusia’s play sounding in the clearing. Merlin was carefully not thinking of anything at all, all too frequently his mind was wandering these days off to the mountains in the north. 

He stood abruptly, brushing the dried grass from his breeches. He tried to stop it coming but the words just bubbled from his mouth without permission. “Do you think she thinks of me?”

Kilgharrah looked shocked for a moment before his scaled face turned thoughtful. “Do you want her to?”

Merlin sighed, tipping his head back to the sky. “No… Yes… No…”

“Let us hope you are more assured when commanding the elements.”

Merlin sent Kilgharrah a scowl. “I want her to get on with her life, but part of me… the selfish part… wants her to remember me, to think of me as often as I think of her... Gods,” Merlin groaned, burying his head in his hands. “Why does this have to be so complicated?”

“Why… “ he continued, lifting his head to stare imploringly at his dragon, “Why did I do this to myself, to her, when I knew that nothing could come of it!”

“I don’t know much of human love Merlin, but I have been around long enough to know that there is very little reason behind it.”

Merlin continued as if the Great Dragon hadn’t spoken. “But I just let it go on, and what’s worse is I didn’t even notice until it was too late.”

“And what would you have done if you had, stopped yourself from feeling anything? One of your strengths is your compassion, if you lose the ability to love, then that will go with it.”

“I shouldn’t have let it go that far Kilgharrah! Gods I was so-“ Merlin cut himself off with a huff, trying to control his anger and frustration at himself. He took a deep breath and hung his head, and ended with a whisper, “Every relationship that meant something to me has ended with a funeral pyre.”

Kilgharrah nudged his snout forward, his nose bumping the end of Merlin’s hanging hand. Merlin allowed his hand to be lifted until it rested against the great creature’s snout. It was odd that Kilgharrah allowed the touch, seemingly knowing his lord needed it. Merlin splayed his hand along the Great Dragon’s scaled nose, feeling the warmth from the ancient creature seep through him body and soul. 

“If anyone… If he found out about her…” Merlin’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated Camelot’s newest addition to the ranks of knights, the boy’s smug smile sent in Merlin’s direction whenever Arthur’s back was turned. 

He shook his head. “I should’ve done more to protect her, I just let her wander off into the forest.”

“I don’t believe that she is unprotected. But-“ Kilgharrah interjected when he saw Merlin’s mouth open in retort. “You do have resources available to you to ensure her protection.”

“I can’t just leave Camelot Kilgharrah, that’s why we’re in this situation to begin with.”

“I am not suggesting that you abandon your destiny Merlin. But you have always been intelligent. I am sure you can figure something out… if it means that much to you.”

Aithusia chose to make his presence known at that moment, apparently bored with his own company already. All other thought was driven from Merlin’s mind as he began the young dragon’s training.

*

The season turned to winter, blanketing the city in the inevitable cover of snow. Her brothers grew restless, bound to the castle walls, the maids grew quiet. It was as if the castle ground to a halt, frozen in ice like the trees that surrounded it. It was then that Mithian missed Camelot the most. 

In the early morning, when her restless nights woke her, she would brave the deep chill and go to the parapets, looking out to the forests to the south until her hands couldn’t stand the cold.

But life trundled along around her, the winter dragging by in a haze of large fires and nights spent huddled for warmth.

She missed him. Of course she did, she missed him with the ache of knowing that nothing was in their control. She missed his smiles, his easy laugh. And in the dark of the night thought about how she missed the heavy weight of him against her. She replayed those few blissful minutes through her head so often they lost meaning. But she allowed herself to indulge in the memory, knowing that she may never have that urgent passion again, not if her heart had anything to say about it.

When spring broke in a flurry of flowers and green buds it brought with it, visitors. 

Peter arrived at Nemeth castle gates in early spring, donned in the full regalia of a Camelot knight.

His and Clarrisa’s reunion in the square set a few mouths a-twittering, but Mithian beamed, feeling the first real smile she had worn in months. 

Dismounting behind Peter was the towering stature of Sir Percival. The knight stepped forward, hailing her father kindly, arms clamped together in greeting. Mithian received a shallow nod and small smile which she returned.

“I bring greetings from King Arthur,” Percival spoke, passing a sealed parchment to her father. The king read it, a small bemused frown appearing between his eyes, but he nodded and gestured to the castle keep. 

“Come, you must be tired.” He peeked around Percival’s large shoulder to see Clarrisa and Peter still locked in an embrace, and smirked slightly. ”We shall leave the young lovers to their reunion. Please, you should dine with us tonight.”

Eventually Clarrisa and Peter removed themselves from each other in time for Peter to attend dinner as a guest of the king. His cape and armour bright and clean, an obvious sign of a new recruit, but he wore them with pride, his shoulders straighter and broader than Mithian remembered.

Inevitably Bediviere and Kay took to sir Percival immediately, urging the large knight to share tales from Camelot’s recent adventures.

These stories had new meaning to Mithian now, no longer just a tale from a travelling knight. Now behind each battle, each new foe she could see the lone figure, hiding in the shadows, battling more fiercely and in more peril than his comrades around him. 

And after every victory there would be celebration, and there the shadow would be again, a smile on his face, and a pitcher of wine ready to serve. 

She had to force her hand to unclench from where it had been gripping her cutlery. “So what could prise you from these adventures to the lonely mountains?” Mithian asked once their meal had been served.

Percival’s face set in a solemn mask. “The skirmishes around Camelot’s smaller towns have increased, and some attacks have been made against Essetir and Merica. King Arthur is worried that Lady Morgana is behind it. He wishes to keep his allies safe.”

Mithian contemplated the knight’s words. Not that she didn’t believe him but she had spent time in the company of King Arthur, she’d seen him govern and learnt his ways. He liked action, a decisive and strong leader. If he really believed them to be in danger he would have sent an entire legion to guard Nemeth. Instead he sent two knights…

“Whose idea was this?” she asked.

Percival opened his mouth, no doubt to press Arthur’s wish for all his allies and friends to be safe in their homes without actually answering the question, but Peter’s voice broke over him. “Um… Merlin’s.”

Mithian looked back at her plate. She could sense her family’s confused frowns. Probably trying to recall a noble named Merlin that sat at Camelot’s council table. A fond smile tugged at her lips as she imagined Merlin’s flailing hands and imploring blue eyes as he convinced Arthur to send two of his knights to the far reaches of the north, not enough to save a kingdom but perhaps enough to protect the royal family. “Of course it was.”

“But King Arthur agrees,” Percival cut back in, a small warning glare sent in Peter’s direction. “It’s important that we ensure our allies are safe during these troubling times.”

Mithian’s father nodded, raising his goblet in agreement. “And we thank King Arthur for his thoughts, you are of course welcome for as long as King Arthur requires you here.”

The rest of the meal passed without merit, the group retiring early, allowing for Percival and Peter’s long journey. Mithian bid her mother and father goodnight, Percival having already left still exchanging laughs with her brothers down the hallways. She politely ignored Clarrisa’s hovering presence at the end of the corridor, she knew it wasn’t her that her maid was waiting for. 

Peter’s hand gripped at her wrist as she passed him to bed. She looked with one eyebrow raised at the offending appendage. Peter looked immediately chastised and snatched his hand back quickly. 

“Apologies, My Lady. But I know he would want me to send on his regards.”

Mithian smiled sadly. “And he knows I have little need for his regards, the things I do need are things he cannot give me, which is why he’ is not here himself; but you are.” Mithian nodded to the spot where Clarrisa was waiting. “I don’t need to tell you how much she has missed you, take this time together while you have it.”

Peter took the subtle dismissal, taking Clarrisa’s hand in his as he passed. Mithian stayed, watching the young lovers disappear around the bend before she retired to her own chambers alone.

*

It was no surprise a few weeks later when a beaming Clarrisa and Peter were waiting for her in her chambers.

She attended the wedding ceremony, a simple gathering by the town elder, she watched their hands join, she saw their beaming smiles. And she tried to imagine what her own day would be like, her life being tied together with some nameless, faceless noble. The dress she might wear, the flowers that would hang, their first dance. But no matter how hard she tried, she could never picture it.

All the while news from Camelot trickled through to the court. She could tell by Percival’s darkening face and his hand tightening on his sword, that the messages never contained particularly good news, but that was as much knowledge as she allowed herself. And even that left her hovering on the strange precipice between anger and worry.

It was an early morning when Mithian drew herself from her sleepless bed again, dressing and wandering aimlessly through the halls. Her mind conjured flimsy excuses of a princess watching over her castle. She found Sir Percival staring out across the courtyard, already dressed in his full Camelot armour.

She tried not to, tried to bite her lip to keep the words in, but he looked quite trouble and the words tumbled from her lips. “News from Camelot?”

“None,” he gritted out, his jaw clenched with frustration. “I haven’t heard word in days.”

“I’m sure that it’s nothing,” she hoped in vain. “I’m sure they are just busy.”

Percival’s eyes stayed on the horizon, as if trying to see into Camelot from his stand. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

*

For the next few days Percival could be found in the courtyard as the sun rose, staring out across its cobbles, waiting for news. 

And in the end news came, just perhaps not in the form the knight had been expecting. 

“Percy!” Gwaine called as his horse skidded to a halt in the courtyard. The large knight’s face lost its frown and broke into a beam as he came forward to greet his brother. 

Mithian had been walking with one of the ladies of court, Kay’s prospective wife, talking of meaningless things women who didn’t know each other well did. She stopped in her tracks. She should have expected this, really she should have seen it coming, but as string after string of Camelot knights rode into the courtyard, she found all she could do was stand and stare, her mind a distressing blank buzz, as she hovered in anticipation.

The king rode in at the back of the pack, jumping from his horse and striding purposefully to Mithian’s father, out to greet the crowd on the steps. They shared a brief handshake and entered the castle at a rush.

But Mithian’s eyes had zeroed on the figure walking quickly behind the king, his shoulders strong and wide but his head dipped in subservience. He seemed wider, stronger than her last sight of him, the muscles of his chest pushing slightly against his blue tunic. Mithian swallowed and could do nothing but stare and release a shaky breath.

Just before he disappeared through the doors with the crowd he looked. Like his eyes were drawn, like magic perhaps, to the spot where Mithian was frozen in shock. Although there was a distance between them, she saw his eyes as if they’d stood a hair’s breadth apart. And then he blinked and was gone.

*

The castle hallways were near impassable with the hustle and bustle of people running to and fro. The tension, that Mithian had hardly noticed lingering in the air had broken, like a bow string had now been let go and the arrows were flying through the air.

Mithian gathered her dress and inelegantly pushed through the crowds, slipping into the war chamber, full to the brim with Camelotian and Nemeth knights.

“-Morgana has set up base here, in the flat lands to the east,” King Arthur was saying. He and her father stood at the head of the long table, a large map of Albion spread out beneath them. “We have reason to believe she will attack at first light.”

“Then we shore up our defences,” the King intoned. “The castle is impenetrable-“

“The prowess of your castle’s defences are widely known, and I know Morgana, she would not attack if she didn’t think she had a way around them.”

Mithian watched her father straighten, shifting the lay of his fur cloak with his shoulders. “Well, what do you suggest?”

“That we engage the sorceress and her army on their own ground.” Arthur indicated to the fields on the map before them. “We approach from the trees, it will grant us ample cover and we will still have the higher ground. Lady Morgana may have powerful magic on her side, but I have been trained in war strategy since I was a boy:this is the only way we can beat her.”

The king studied the map before him, his eyes tracking different paths. Mithian could almost see various plans being made and rejected in her father’s mind before he let out a small sigh. “Very well, King Arthur, the future of Nemeth rests in your hands; we will gather some men to aid you.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Arthur nodded graciously.

“My sons are experienced swordsmen, they will be a great asset to your attack, and I am not so feeble with a weapon myself.”

King Arthur allowed himself a small grin. “Alright then, we will prepare, ride out before the sun and attack before she has time to move, agreed.”

The meeting broke in a murmur of agreement, each man onto their next task to prepare. The room drained quickly, the tide pulling Mithian along with it. She tip-toed, raising her head above the swarm but only managed to catch a glimpse of brown before he disappeared and she bowed to the movement of the masses.

*

She tried to convince herself that she was looking for King Arthur, to find more news on the happenings around Camelot these past months, perhaps to enquire about Guinevere’s wellbeing. But as her hand came up before her, knocking lightly on the hard wood, she felt her palms sweat and her heart flutter in anticipation, and she didn’t know who she was trying to kid.

And then the door was open, and he was there. Unbelievably solid and real in front of her. His hair was a little longer but still as rich and thick. His jacket discarded and sleeves rolled up, showing the new lines of definition along his arms. She stared, her hands clenched at her sides to stop them from just reaching out and touching. Her limbs trembled from the effort.

She cursed herself for being this weak, for giving in and coming up here knowing that nothing at all had truly changed in their absence.

“Merlin.” She spoke, breaking the silence. She stepped forward, allowing the door to swing shut behind her. The sound seemed to break Merlin from a kind of trance.

“Mithian” Merlin replied, an exorbitant amount of fondness in that one word. 

She swallowed. “How have you been?”

Merlin snorted a laugh. “How have you been?”

Mithian responded with a chuckle at her polite conversation, as if he hadn’t been closer to her in all ways than anyone before. “Yes I know, but I am at a loss as to what else to say.”

He returned himself to the desk in the chambers, creating needed distance between them. “I know, I’m sorry for just all of us dropping on you like this, I would have stayed away but…”

“But by Arthur’s side you must be.” She nodded, resignation in her voice. She watched his careful ministrations, the packs, the armour spread before him and the second sword by his side. “You are riding out with them.” It wasn’t a question, she couldn’t be surprised.

“Yes.”

Mithian watched the length of metal in his hands getting sharper, more deadly with each stroke. There would be thousands of those things on the field tomorrow… “I want to ask you not to go.”

He looked up then, his large blue eyes startling in the low light. “But you won’t.”

“No.”

She wanted to say more, but they had both nothing to say and too much to say to each other. He knew everything that had meaning, but that did not stop her from wanting to repeat it all until the words were carved deep into his bones. 

Oh, how she wanted to reach out, just to feel the warmth of his skin beneath her hands, but she couldn’t, because she knew she wouldn’t have the restraint to end it there and the only thing that could make this any more heart-breaking would be to add a child born out of wedlock.

Mithian stepped away, she had other ports of call to make that night, she was not at all surprised at herself that Merlin had been first. They’d all be out there tomorrow though, all the men in her heart offered to the same beast of war. The likelihood would be that at least one wouldn’t return.

“My brothers….” She started before she could stop herself. She knew it was selfish that Merlin had a thousand other things to worry about… but he just smiled at her warmly.

“I will make sure they come back in one piece.”

“Thank you,” she sighed.

“It’s no problem, I managed to get one prince through his formative years, and I’m sure your two aren’t nearly as much trouble.”

She chuckled, and she really was leaving now, she had a hand on the door handle, the catch unlocked but she looked over her shoulder one last time. His eyes were on her and they didn’t start away when she looked, unashamed in their viewing. 

“You’ll come back too?”

“Where else would I go?”

They stared at each other for a long moment, Mithian breaking first before she escaped. She leant back against the closed door, letting her breathing and heart settle. Even as stupid and pointless as that had been, she still had to force her feet to move away from the door, giving it one last glance before she left. 

*

Her father was leaning back relaxed before his fire, staring serenely into the flames. He looked up when Mithian closed the door behind her, the sound of the catch interrupting his peace. But a peaceful smile crept onto his face when he caught sight of her.

“Mithian, my daughter.” He held out a hand towards where she stood. “Come sit with me.”

The fire before her tingled its warmth across her face and she sat in one of the comfortable chairs, her hand reaching for her father’s own.

“Have you seen to your brothers?”

“Yes, Kay is with Lady Francis now.”

Her father chuckled. “Ah, young love. I remember mine well.”

“You and mother have never left that phase.” She smirked at him, receiving a mirrored one in response.

“It will come for you one day; love. And when it does it will change your world. It may come burning fast like lightening, or it could be the slow amalgamation of your brother and Lady Francis. But when it does, it is spectacular.”

“The only experience I have of it is pain.”

Her father’s gaze softened squeezing her hand tightly. “As strange as it may seem the larger the hurt, the greater the love.”

Mithian didn’t respond to that out loud, she let her stare get lost in the oranges and reds of the roaring fire. There was just so much going on, after what had felt like an age of quiet calm and peace, this war was thrust upon them all, knocking her already teetering world into spin.

“Mithian you seem… shaken. It’s not like you.”

Mithian took a deep breath, wondering how she could possibly explain it all. “It’s just a bit of a shock…the battle.” She added at her father’s questioning glance.

“It shouldn’t be.” Her father frowned. “This storm has been brewing on our borders for some time. We are more than ready for the fight.”

“Perhaps I’ve just been wilfully blind.”

“Ah, that’s the worst kind of ignorance,” he replied, no censure in his voice. 

“Well, I assure you father, I am aware of what is going on now.” Her gaze fell to the newly polished armour and sword laid out on her father’s table, knowing that he would be donning it in a few hours and joining her brothers and Merlin upon the battlefield. 

The door creaked open as her mother entered the chambers. She smiled fondly upon the father and daughter, their hands still clasped between them. “Come, Harold. You need some sleep.”

The king nodded and helped Mithian rise from her seat. When Mithian left the chambers she glanced back quickly. The last image she saw before the door closed shut was her father cupping her mother’s cheek lovingly. 

The army rode out before first light, hoards of men and horses melting into the woods as shadows. Mithian watched with her mother upon the royal balcony, the dusky light not good enough to discern anything in detail but she had to be there, bear witness to these men and the feat they were about to undertake. 

And then they were gone. And all there was to do, was wait.

*

The battlefield was so close, almost on the doorstep of the castle through the thin cover of trees below. Mithian imagined she could taste the men’s fear upon the air. It made her fidgety. It made her shoulders tense and her hands tremble and her inside clench in a constant state of dread. 

“Mithian, would you please sit down,” her mother ordered, not looking up from her embroidery.

“I hate this,” Mithian muttered, pacing across the chamber. “I hate sitting here idly reading or sewing. I cannot just sit here whist the men I love fight in battle!”

Her mother raised an eyebrow at her uncharacteristic outburst. “Trust me my child, soon there will be more than enough for you to do.” 

As always her mother’s prediction came true, and the first wave of injured arrived, washing up against the castle steps in droves. From then there was no time to stop. 

Young men, old men, some mere boys. Wounds from missing limbs to burns, to the lack of a heartbeat. There was no time to feel sadness, or pity, or remorse, if you started you wouldn’t be able to stop and would be in a ball cowering in the corner after the first wave. 

But every glimpse of black hair had her reeling, every flash of brown or blue cloth, sent her hurtling in that direction, her chest seized in panic. 

They were lucky enough that King Arthur had brought with him the renowned knowledge of their court physician. Gaius organised the infirmary and surgeries with military precision, a harsh but fair ruler. All Mithian had to worry about was doing as she was instructed, which was a blessing for her over-taxed mind. 

She had been praised as a child for her over-active imagination, now it felt more like a curse, the horrors surrounding her fuelling her already vivid nightmares of pale skinned warlocks left cold and broken on a bloody field. 

So she ran herself ragged, followed Gaius’s every instruction without question, fetching, carrying, steading; anything to keep her moving.

“Mithian,” a voice called from behind her. Mithian turned from her hurried walk down the hallway, fresh bandages in hand, to look upon the solemn face of her maid. 

Mithian’s stomach dropped. She knew that look, an awful mix between fear and pity and sadness. The bandages fell to the floor and she raced past her maid, her heart pounding and her mind a consistent mantra of ‘Merlin’. 

She ignored Clarrisa’s call behind her, lifting her skirts she flew down the stone steps and burst out onto the courtyard. The sight out to greet her stopped her still.

Held upon the shoulders of his most trusted knights was the still body of her father. 

*

“It was a clean wound My Lady,” Gaius had said. Her mother stood hunched at Mithian’s side, silent tears running down each cheek. It pained Mithian more so to see her mother’s hurt than the feel of her own. “It would’ve been quick.”

The queen’s Lady In Waiting had wrapped a swift arm around the queen before her legs gave way from sobs. and Mithian had retreated. 

The stairways of the castle were deserted, everyone either on the battlefield or the infirmary. Here Mithian sank down, her body folding in on itself until her head touched her knees. This was something she couldn’t comprehend. There had never been a world for her before, where her father didn’t roam. He may have been far away or not available, but he was always there, somewhere.

She glanced up and around the empty staircase she was in; the castle even seemed different somehow, already. And in the most selfish, darkest part of her mind she rejoiced, thanked the Gods that it hadn’t been Merlin upon those knights, body drained of its life force. 

She couldn’t help the helpless laugh that sobbed form her lips. Even now, when her world had been shattered and reformed in the wrong order, when her constant was gone and the prickles of grief stabbed her eyes, she just wanted for one man. And he was so much closer than he had been for months, but he still wasn’t here. She thought that perhaps if he just slotted his arms around her shoulders, allowed her to rest her head against his chest and listen to the strong beat of his heart; then she might be able to feel as if tomorrow wouldn’t shatter. 

Mithian was startled from her grief by a shudder. At first she thought it was her body, the hours of tensions and heartache rippling through her body, but then it happened again. She heard the calls and the screams around her as the castle walls shook with a beat. And then the loudest sound Mithian had ever heard ripped through the world, shaking the castle to the core. The stone building shivered, like a bare tree in a storm and Mithian screamed, ducking as rubble and stone fell from the ceiling showered upon her head. 

When it was over she looked around, panting, as if waiting for a foe to jump from the shadows. And then a torrent of horse hooves sounded, echoing across each bare wall.

When she reached the courtyard at a rush, Kay was already dismounting his horse. Disregarding any audience she ran at him, letting herself be swept up in his arms. They held tight for a moment, him letting her feel his wholeness beneath her, then they pulled back. 

“Kay, what happened?” she asked. He shook his head wordlessly. He may have been standing but his face was pale and his eyes wide as if in shock.

“The battle,” he breathed. “It’s over, Lady Morgana is gone.”

“Gone?” 

The surge of horse hooves escalated, a hoard of Camelot red flooded the square. From in their midst there were raised voices and a panicked voice hollered, “Gaius!”

Emerging from the sea was a scene from her nightmares. 

His skin was pale, bloodless and his limbs hung limply down from where Sir Percival had him cradled. His hair and face covered and matted with dirt and dust, and painted across his middle, through the flimsy blue material of his tunic, was a bright red gash of blood.

“Gaius!” King Arthur called again, racing beside his knight and the passenger. The party disappeared into the castle, Arthur’s frantic calls to Gaius echoing through the castle. 

*

Mithian watched, frozen still by fear for half a moment, trying to decipher whether she was actually awake or just so overtired that her brain had manifested its nightmares.

Her legs began to move with no conscious thought, leaving the courtyard, the returning soldiers and her brother behind, and she flew through the hallways, ignoring the trail of red dripped along the floor ahead of her.

The small room beside the infirmary was in chaos. The king was yelling, Gaius was scowling back, the knights were getting in everyones way. But Mithian’s eyes zeroed in on the small bed. 

His body was just so still and pale. The rest of the room faded away.

She pushed past them all, she needed to check, just to check. As soon as her hands touched his face, cupping his pale cheeks his body let out a groan, Merlin’s head rolling towards her.

“Oh,” she exhaled, relief, love, fear, pain, all flooding her heart, making her feel weak. She rested her head against the corner of the litter. “Oh, thank Gods.”

She clutched his relatively unmarred hand. She could still hear the voices still escalated around her, some words pierced her conscious, like ‘Mordred’, ‘Fire’, ‘Morgana’ and most frightening of all ‘Magic’. But nothing else mattered. Not the men in the room, not the stains of blood against her dress, not magic, not destiny, not class, not riches. 

He was alive; he was pale and weak, but alive.

As if reading her mind the physician spoke. “He’s lost a lot of blood, My Lady. We need to work.”

She looked up then, her face stern with royal importance that can only be bred. Her hand gripped tightly in her love’s. She stared the physician in the eyes. “Are you ordering me to leave?” A challenging eyebrow raised.

Thankfully and fortunately the physician seemed to have an ounce of intelligence, muttering and moving quickly around the room. Mithian didn’t pay attention, she had already seen enough of the wound upon Merlin to give her nightmares: instead she stared at his face, running a hand through his hair, whispering into his ear. 

And all the while their joined hands pressed against Merlin’s cheek, Mithian’s lips pressed to the other side of their join. And she vowed to him, if he just pulled through this, he would never leave his side again, no matter the cost. 

After a while the movement around her stopped. Merlin’s face was now flush with fever, his long fringe sticking to his head. She pushed the hair away, leaving her hand soothing his forehead.

She looked up, noticing for the first time she was alone in the room save Gaius. She stared pleading into Gaius’s eyes. “He’ll be alright?”

 

“He’ has lost a lot of blood, My Lady. But we have done what we can; the rest is up to him.”

Mithian looked fiercely back down at Merlin, squaring her shoulders, ready to fight on his behalf. “He is strong. He will be fine.”

She looked up, expecting a lecture on realistic expectations, but Gaius was just watching her, a fond smile on his lips. “It has been good to see you again, Princess.”

Taken off guard, Mithian blinked, but found her response came to her easily and sincerely. “You too Gaius.”

“I won’t pretend he has told me everything, but he has missed you.”

With a squeeze of her shoulder he left her and Merlin, no doubt off to tend to the rest of the wounded, but as soon as he left her sphere, he was forgotten. All that mattered was laid out bare before her. 

*

Mithian’s world had shrunk, to Merlin’s limp hand, to his pale lips, to his sweaty brow, to his quivering eyes. She wrung out the cooling cloth and re-wet it, dripping a few droplets of water between his pale lips before she laid it gently across his forehead.

She was vaguely aware of some comings and goings. A physician coming to check on the patient, maids bringing fresh water, she thought she had seen a flick of Sir Gwaine’s hair on the opposite side of the bed for a while. But they all left eventually. And she stayed.

The knock at the door was unexpected. Mithian looked up, her eyes blinking at the change in focus, to find Bediviere peering around the corner of the door. 

“Brother,” she gasped. 

The real world rushed through the door with her brother’s presence, the battle, her father, her mother. She began to stand, mentally working out exactly how long she would have to leave Merlin’s side, to see to her family and duties.

“No, Mithian, sit,” Bediviere soothed. He came into the room and sat opposite, staring at the prone body on the bed. Warily Mithian turned the cloth, pushing Merlin’s hair from his face. He turned his head into the touch and Mithian let the backs of her fingers carefully trace his overheated cheek. 

When she looked up her brother was smirking and her face automatically scowled. “What?” 

Bediviere just smirked wider, the smile on his face belying the dark shadows beneath his eyes. But Mithian allowed him to distract himself for a short moment. “So this is Merlin, the noble with so much influence on the king, the one that father was fretting he didn’t know?”

Mithian ignored the stab of reality that came along with her father’s name. He was gone and there was no coming back, she would have plenty of time to mourn him when Merlin had recovered. “He may not be of noble blood,” she spoke slowly with conviction. “But he is the very definition… He is King Arthur’s servant.”

Bediviere nodded, as if an obscured picture was coming to light. “You know,” he mused. “This makes more sense.” Mithian shot him a questioning eyebrow and he continued, “Well, I could never understand why you would do that to yourself, stay around in Camelot to watch the man you were due to marry make a life with someone else. I thought you must have gotten over the rejection but then you came back and you were so…”

Mithian didn’t need him to finish that sentence; she knew what she was ‘so’. She was so heartbroken, and grief stricken, and lonely. But she needn’t be anymore. 

Merlin let out a small moan again. Mithian quickly dunked the warming cloth and gently wiped across his neck and behind his ears, trying to soothe the fire raging through his veins.

“Will he be alright?” Bediviere asked.

Mithian didn’t look up from her ministrations. “He has a fever.”

Bediviere nodded but didn’t offer any platitudes or assurances. Mithian was glad, she didn’t know if she could handle them right now. 

She wiped the cloth lower, over the top of his exposed chest until she could go no lower, the span of skin broken by a white bandage, already spotting with blood across its middle. 

For the first time she let herself lean back to take in the full state of the man laid out before her. His breeches were stained with mud and blood, crusting along the knees, although he had been given a quick clean to stave off infection his skin still held a stain of ash like he had stood to close to a burning fire, and the bandages covered what Mithian knew was a vicious slash across his skin. 

Tears prickled at her eyes and she swallowed to stave off the inevitable. 

“What happened?” she croaked, levering her eyes to her brother’s solemn face. 

“He saved us all,” Bediviere answered, glancing down at the Merlin. “Morgana had us surrounded, we were outnumbered and outmanoeuvred. King Arthur was about to stage the final attack that would have been the end for all of us, and then… it was like nothing I have ever seen before…” 

Bediviere’s eyes lost focus, so lost in the memory he was. “The ground shook and cracked, the enemy falling to the centre of the earth, and Morgana – she was consumed in flames.”

“And the wound?”

“One of Arthur’s knights, a young boy, he screamed when Morgana fell and came at him. Merlin barely had time to move let alone defend himself.”

Mithian opened her mouth to ask… something, but it flew from her mind as Merlin’s hand twitched in her own. Her eyes zeroed back in on her love to watch hopefully for signs of waking. She brought the hand to her lips, just pressing the limb against them, feeling the smooth skin brush against her mouth.

Bediviere pushed slowly from his seat, Mithian catching the slight wince and the favour to his right side. “I’ll leave you to care for your man.”

“I should… Mother-“

“She’ would want you to stay here, where you are needed. I think she more than most, will understand your need to be here.” Pressing a rare kiss to her forehead he departed, leaving her and Merlin once more unaccompanied. 

*

Gwen held her skirts and rushed up the steps of Nemeth castle and through the hallways. She had heard the stories of what had happened on the battlefield; that Morgana was defeated, that they’d won the battle, that the King of Nemeth had fallen, that Merlin…

She opened the door before which Camelot knights stood and then Arthur was there, turning from where he leaned over his desk, his stance whenever he was concerned or troubled. But he was there and alive and looked unscathed after battle. They met together in the middle of the room and Gwen let the comfort of his arms soothe her worries and mind for a moment.

“Arthur… I heard, about Merlin – what he did.” Gwen breathed into her husband’s neck. But before she had even finished she felt him tense and he pulled away, turning his back to her. “What are you going to do Arthur?”

“What exactly do you want me to do Gwen?” Arthur spoke to the reports littering his desk, Gwen doubted that he was reading them. “He has lied to me for years!”

Gwen stepped forward, her brown furrowing. “And when exactly was he supposed to tell you he was a sorcerer living in Camelot’s castle? You were the prince of a kingdom where his existence was punishable by death, and then you became king of that kingdom, a king whose parents had both been killed by magic!”

“He should have trusted me! As I have trusted him!” Arthur shouted as he whirled, eyes wide with rage and betrayal. 

Gwen’s gaze softened at her husband’s obvious hurt, but she wouldn’t back down. “He has trusted you in the past Arthur, don’t deny it. He told you of his suspicions of Agravaine and you threatened him with exile, you threaten him with the stocks every mistake he makes. When the goblin actually accused him of magic you let him be thrown into the cells!”

“I wasn’t going to leave him there!”

“And does Merlin know that?” Arthur’s indignation faded, his shoulders slumping. Gwen followed silently as he stood before the fireplace, staring into the jumping flames. 

“What are you going to do Arthur?” She spoke after a while. “Are you really going to kill your best friend, my best friend? One of the knight’s brothers?”

“Of course not, but his treachery cannot go unpunished.”

“So what then? Banishment? Is that your solution to every situation you find uncomfortable?”

“It is the punishment for people who betray my trust!”

Gwen went silent, the sting of her betrayal and Arthur’s dismal still a black point in their lives, one that was never brought up, just skipped over like a crack in a pavement.

“You need to think Arthur,” she whispered allowing the accusation to wash over her. “What will your action be? And think hard; because I don’t have to tell you that if he dies...” Gwen’s voice cracked. “If he dies then part of Camelot will die with him. And you will not forgive yourself if he dies with bad blood between you.”

The queen left her king to his thoughts, his long gaze caught in the fire, crackling like a cruel taunt.

*

Arthur fidgeted, rested his hands on his sword and then thought better of it and squared his shoulders, and knocked. 

There was the sound of shuffling, a splash of water and then the door opened, revealing the drawn and tired face of Princess Mithian. Her face shuttered and closed when she saw her midnight caller. “He’s resting,” she stated, her voice cool. 

Arthur shuffled his shoulders again. “I need to see him.”

“With all due respect Your Highness, no.”

“No?”

“He has sustained a major injury, he needs to recover.”

Arthur’s mouth flapped for a minute before he frowned at the Princess blocking his way to his own manservant. “You don’t seem surprised.” 

“What?”

“The magic, the fact that Merlin, my bumbling fool of a servant felled half an army with the sweep of his hands and reduced a powerful sorceress to a pile of ash with the blink of his eyes!” Arthur’s voice was quite loud at the end and an unfortunate pitch. He cleared his throat and stared in a very regal and hopefully demanding way.

Mithian stared back, seemingly unimpressed and Arthur thought the little tug on her lips looked a little smug when she responded, “He told me.”

Arthur’s mouth opened a little in outrage. “Why would he tell you?”

Mithian sighed, looking back over shoulder into the room. “Anything else Arthur?” 

“I see that his insubordination is catching,” Arthur muttered.

“If that is all-“ Unimpressed and apparently finished with this conversation, Mithian began to shut the door. Arthur shot out a hand quickly, pressing against the wood, before he could even think about it.

Mithian raised an expectant eyebrow at the king, waiting. “Just-“ he stumbled, trying to figure out which question was most prevalent in mind, then he sighed because he knew which was most important, from the moment he had caught Merlin’s falling body on that field. “Will he be alright?”

“Why?” The Princess glared. “Do you need him intact for the pyre?”

“Gods, I’m not…” Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He just felled an entire army! Why does everyone think I am a blood thirsty war monger?” 

Mithian causally looked down to Arthur’s still blood soaked sword hanging by his side. 

“Erm…” he cleared his throat, turning his belt slightly so it wasn’t in view. “Just have someone keep me updated on his progress. Gwaine stop looking so smug,” he shot at the chuckling knight hovering in the shadows behind him. “And guard this door!”

Mithian looked as if she were about to protest. He raised a calming hand “He is here for protection only.”

Mithian looked slightly mollified and then showed Arthur the back side of the door. Arthur stood blinking at the closed door for a moment before sending his still chuckling knight a withering glare.

As expected it had no effect, Gwaine leaning back casually, one foot levered against the wall beside the door but his sword drawn at ready. “The Princess, thwarted by a princess.”

Arthur rolled his eyes storming away down the corridor. “Oh shut up, Gwaine.” 

*

Mithian was in a field, a beautiful green field of long grass and small white flowers, their sweet scent filled her nose and the warm sun beat down on her shoulders. This was truly a space of peace. She touched a hand to the nearest flower, to its silky white petals, and the long green stalk. So simplistic in its beauty but undeniable all the same. 

A hand, one that was not her own, slipped over hers. She knew the hand, so soft and strong. And sure enough she looked up to find Merlin’s smiling eyes ahead. And then she looked down and the white flower was gone, in its place was a long red rose. She plucked it from the ground, bringing the bud close to her face and inhaling.

Merlin watched her with twinkling eyes across the flower. His luscious red mouth curled into a private smile, one just for her. He reached out to her, his hand coming to her face. The sun moved, its warming light backlighting him, his face obscured into soft shadows. He flickered, the warm sun, the grass all fading down a tunnel, his hand getting further and further and further-

Mithian blinked her eyes open blearily, her heart dipping from the soars of her dream. She had fallen asleep, she chastised herself, closing her eyes a short moment to regain herself. 

And then her pillow moved, no- wait that wasn’t right. She pushed back quickly from where she had fallen, her head resting neatly in the dip of Merlin’s shoulder, to see his eyes slowly blinking open. Her heart stuttered in its chest when she saw the first slither of brilliant blue. Merlin’s tongue came out, fruitlessly trying to wet his cracking lips. 

“Oh.” Mithian reached down, bringing a goblet of water to his questing lips. “Slowly,” she whispered, gently lifting his head to the goblet. 

When he’d finished his head flopped back, grimacing in pain, as if that small movement had drained him, his eyes closed again. 

Mithian tried not to be disappointed, this was good, he was stirring. But she had spent long enough without him, this silent shell of him not what she wanted or craved. But he would come around she was sure, he would wake and she would aid him in recovery and then they would just… be. Together. 

“Mithian?” The rasping voice startled her from her musings. Her eyes shot up to the once more open eyes, still glassy with fever.

“Here!” she gasped, grabbing his hand bringing it to her face so he could feel her presence. “I’m here, Merlin.”

A wistful smile floated across his face. “I’m dreaming,” he murmured, stroking his thumb wearily where it lay against her cheek. “But it is a good dream.” His eyes closed in bliss, once more drifting back into his fitful sleep.

But he had woken, his fever would break soon. Mithian smiled and resettled herself, pressing a lasting kiss to her love’s hand.

*

The best thing Arthur found when he was anxious or troubled, or trying to ignore the fact his stomach was churning with worry for his servant-cum-sorcerer still recovering in the wings, was to stay busy. Arthur swallowed and clenched his jaw. It was too many emotions for him to feel all at once; fear, betrayal, pain, worry, sadness, pride… all mixed into one man, albeit a king, but a man none the less.

So he had gathered his knights in his acquired chambers. He looked over them with pride and gratitude that they were all unharmed or at least walking wounded after the fierce battle. And he began the process of ruling.

It was long a tedious and included many discussions on distribution of men, and securing the villages, and monetary versus humanitarian gain. And the whole thing dragged on for hours.

Percival’s head was propped heavily on his trunk of an arm and the sun dipping below the mountains when the door to the chambers burst open, a grinning Gwaine surging over the threshold.

“Merlin’s fever has broken,” he announced, a wave of relief rippling through the room. Gwen gripped Arthur’s hand, sending him a relieved smile and Arthur, feeling his stomach unknot for perhaps the first time in months, returned his wife’s smile.

Gwaine took his seat amongst the knights and exchanged hearty back-pats with Percival and Elyan. “And the Princess, not you Arthur,” Gwaine winked, “hasn’t left his side all the while.” 

“Really?” Gwen gasped, “Oh that’s wonderful!”

“Yeah, who knew ‘ol Merlin had it in ‘im, eh?” 

Snickers and amused nods drifted around the table. Gwaine lent back in his chair, nicking a grape from the bowl before him and casually popping it in his mouth. His smirk all too smug for Arthur’s liking. The king narrowed his eyes at him.

“Sorry, am I missing something here?”

Everyone turned to stare at him. His frown switched to each incredulous face but he squared his shoulders under their gaze.

“Sire,” Leon coughed. “Surely you saw them, when Merlin was first brought in. There could be no denying what was between them, on Mithian’s part at least.”

“Wait…” Arthur murmured, “You’re saying Princess Mithian… and Merlin?” 

As Arthur eyes widened in comprehension and astonishment, Leon stared at his king in disbelief. “Merlin’s right, you are oblivious.”

Arthur was still trying to create that picture in his head, where a girl, a princess no less, was interested in Merlin, when Gwaine cleared his throat and leant forward on the table seriously. When Gwaine looked serious, you knew well to pay attention.

“He said he was ready to see you… if you wanted.”

All eyes were once more upon the king, but this time each gaze was filled with hesitancy, and fear. 

“Arthur,” Gwen spoke. “What are you going to do?”

Arthur swallowed, looking down at the table before him before he pushed back. “I will speak with him,” he announced, and stood gracefully, heading to the exit.

“Um- Arthur?”

He turned around to see all five faces still watching him cautiously. “Don’t you think you should…” Gwen made a brief hand gesture to him which he found it hard to translate. She did it again motioning to his belt. He looked down to see his prized Excalibur hanging by his side.

“Oh for… are you kidding me?”

“I think it would be for the best, don’t you?”

Huffing, Arthur ripped his sword belt off and clunked it on the table before his knights. He turned and headed from the room, not even having to look over his shoulder when he shouted, “And don’t touch it Gwaine!”

The huffing and curses meant his guess was right. As soon as the door shut behind him he paused in the empty corridor, closed his eyes and took a deep breath – it was time to confront the sorcerer. 

*

The door before Arthur stood open, the late night flicker of firelight spilling out into the darkened corridor and the blank faced guard stationed outside.

Mithian sat in a high backed chair pressed up tight to the side of the sick bed. She held a small book in her hands, eyes running slowly across each page before she turned it and continued. On the bed lay Merlin, his face pale with exhaustion and pain, but his cheeks free from the signs of a raging fever. His top half lay exposed, just a white bandage around his middle hiding the worst of the damage. 

Arthur gritted his jaw and swallowed at the memory of Merlin’s eyes wide with shock, his hand flying automatically to his gaping stomach, viscous blood dripping down between his fingers. 

One of the servant’s long arms lay, resting his pale hand against his chest, rising and falling with every shallow breath, and his other lay down his side, his hand coming to rest on the princess’ dress-covered knee.

It was an innocent touch but the whole scene seemed so domestic and private that Arthur felt an intruder just standing there. But before he could back silently away Merlin’s head rolled on the bed, his weary eyes meeting Arthur’s.

“Arthur.” He mumbled, the word hardly above a whisper, but Mithian’s gaze snapped to the king, her posture not unmoving from around her book. Her eyes scanned Arthur, lingering on his bare scabbard and the fierceness in them faded a little. Arthur gulped and was secretly glad his wife made him leave his sword behind.

“Have you come to rescue me?” Merlin quipped, although his tone lacked his usual energy. “She’s keeping me prisoner.”

“Merlin…” Merlin eyes moved to the princess by his bed. She sent him a small smile. “Do shut up.”

“Oh wonderful, two nobles to boss me around.”

Mithian smiled, resting a hand over his bandaged middle. “And stay still,” she chastised. 

Arthur crept slowly into the room, acutely aware of the princesses hand, where it stayed resting on his servant’s stomach, but she didn’t seem to be planning to move it any time soon and returned her eyes to her book. 

“How are you?” Arthur asked stiffly, taking back his appreciation for not having his sword belt to rest his hand on.

“Bored, all I do is lie here.”

“It’s called resting,” Mithian replied, her eyes not rising from the book on her lap. Arthur could see a small smirk curling the side of her mouth.

Merlin’s smile dimmed as he looked back to Arthur. Arthur watched as his adam’s apple bobbed down his long neck. “You wanted to talk… about what happened?”

Arthur looked from Merlin’s eyes, firm and steady but Arthur could see the fear whirling behind them. Mithian had given up the pretence of reading her book, he could feel her eyes also, wide and afraid, but determined, boring into his cheek. Their hands now lay clutched tightly together, their knuckles white against their firm grip. 

He realised that there was only one choice, the choice he knew he would make all along underneath the hurt and the bruised pride. Arthur shook his head. “It can wait,” he told the couple, “It can wait until you are recovered and back in Camelot. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Although Merlin’s skin was still pale, his eyes still heavy and tired and his lips still cracked, his smile lit up his whole face, looking just like that insolent boy Arthur had first met in the market, and Arthur knew he had made the right choice.

*

“How are you feeling?” Mithian asked in concern, Merlin’s head dropping back against the pillows with a sigh. His eyes closed briefly and Mithian tried to tamper down the twinge of irrational jealousy that Arthur got one of the few rare wakeful moments of Merlin’s focused solely on him.

“Light-headed,” Merlin sighed, rolling his head back to look at her, with a small slightly giddy smile on his face. “I don’t know if it’s the relief or the blood loss.”

Mithian grinned, too happy for Merlin to do much else. “Perhaps a little of both.”

“Thank you,” he spoke, gripping back at her hand, “For staying by my side.”

Mithian gripped back just as firmly. “There is nowhere else I would rather be, and nowhere else I will be than by your side for as long as either of us stand.”

“Mithian…” he sighed, his eyes turning sad. Mithian cupped his face, as if trying to hold the spark within them steady.

“No, Merlin. I’ve made my choice. You know enough of royals to know we can be stubborn.”

Merlin shook his head but still leaned into her touch. “You come back to Camelot with me and the most you can hope for is to be the wife of a servant-“

“Then the wife of a servant I will be. And I will die happily in a bed of hay at 80 years with you by my side.”

“I have the unfortunate pleasure of knowing what I look like at 80, you’d better hope we perish before that.” Mithian laughed and gently swatted at his shoulder. His face pulled in mock severity. “I have a beard, Mithian.”

“A beard huh?” she murmured leaning close, running a hand down the rough stubble already forming on Merlin’s cheeks. “I’ve always had a thing for a man with a beard, something to grab on to.”

Merlin’s huff of laughter was accompanied by a moan of pain, his eyes clenching at the movement in his stomach. But he smiled. “Gods, woman,” he huffed good naturedly.

“Hopefully you will be recovered before our wedding night,” Mithian quipped, laying a soothing hand above the bandages as if her touch alone could remove the hurt.

Merlin stared at her, fretting for a few moments before clasping her fiddling hands. “You’re serious?“ he asked, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Yes,” Mithian stated. “I have had a taste of what life would be without you, have almost had to live in a world where you are not. Neither concept is one I want to live with. I am coming back to Camelot with you and there is no question.” 

His eyes searched her for a moment, for indecision and uncertainty, but Mithian let him take his look, confident that he would find neither. Then his lips came forward connecting with her own. 

Mithian felt all her nerves come alive and she leant over him, releasing the strain on his stomach. His lips were dry and cracked but she lathed them, bringing the plump skin into her own mouth one by one. Their first kiss since their reunion and Mithian felt her heart singing and her lips pulled into a smile against her love’s.

“You realise that you actually proposed to me?” Merlin whispered when they parted, his eyes drooping from exhaustion already. Mithian pulled back, tucking the blanket up over his chest.

“Well, you were being too slow.”

“When we tell people can we come up with a different story?” he mumbled sleepily. “One that makes me look a little manlier.”

“Would you like to be wielding a weapon of some kind?”

“That could work.” He grinned, his eyes already closing, returning him back to sleep.

*

Mithian knelt in silence, flanked by her brothers. Everything running through her head; the past, the present, the future. The King of Nemeth was dead, Bediviere was in line to take charge, barely into adulthood himself, their forces had been depleted rapidly. It was just so huge and all encompassing, and now with her father not there to guide her…

She felt Kay’s hand slip into her own and she squeezed back, Bediviere’s shoulder brushing against her own. 

She forced herself to stop thinking of that and she focused on the body laid before her. The loving face that had taught her to ride, had sat her on his knee teaching her to read, had tearfully kissed her cheek goodbye when he thought she would marry the King of Camelot. He had been her father, above all else, and now he was gone. This was her time – she squeezed Kay’s hand again – their time to come to terms with that and prepare themselves to go on.

*

When the morning sun signalled that a new day had arrived, the first day of a new rule, the siblings stood as one, Bediviere’s shoulders already looking broader to carry the mantel he had been passed. The door creaked as they left, standing side by side. 

With a shared look they strode forward as one.

*

King Arthur’s makeshift council chamber was bustling busily even at the early hour, the king himself in the midst of it all. All eyes fell on the trio as they entered the room, shoulders back, faces solemn. 

“Your highness.” Arthur nodded to Bediviere, the council chamber following suit. Mithian felt her brother tense where he stood beside her. “It’s only a small council today, perhaps you should spend this time with the queen, she-“

“My mother knows we are here,” Mithian spoke. Arthur’s eyes flicked from Bediviere to the small woman standing between two knights. She squared her shoulders and stepped forward, ignoring the tittering around the walls. 

“We have a proposition for you.”

Arthur frowned but tilted his head in acquiesce. Mithian had the floor now. She took a deep breath and began the speech she had been rehearsing in her head ever since she left a sleeping Merlin last night to Queen Guinevere’s expert care. 

“Legends talk of the Once and Future King.” The words of the ancient prophesies swirled through her mind. “That he will unite the lands of Albion under one rule, a band of loyal brothers around you, and bring peace and prosperity to all. To do that, to bring the future that has been written, you will need Nemeth.” Arthur opened his mouth to protest, either to the proposal he could hear coming or the naming of him as the prophesied leader, but Mithian waved a hand and he shut his mouth. 

“Nemeth will retain its name and practices but its people will be citizens of Albion and will be protected as such. Bediviere will be named King but will also sit on your council of knights as a trusted ally and friend. My mother will stay on here, Kay will join as one of your trusted knights, to be stationed where you see fit, and I shall return to Camelot with you, as an ambassador of sorts.”

“Uh huh,” Arthur muttered, his gaze too knowing and amused. “I don’t suppose this has anything to do with certain magical servants that just happen to be stuck to my side like an unsightly boil?”

At her glare the King of Camelot withered slightly in his triumphant glee. “It has to do with what is best for Nemeth and for Albion. We believe in the future you will create, and would be proud for our lands to join your legacy.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed thoughtfully and he turned his attention to Bediviere. “What do you say, King Bediviere?”

Her brother held his head high, looking his King in the eye. “I say that you have shown your leadership and courage out on the battlefield. It would be an honour to join the ranks of your knights and for my people to become part of your legacy.” Arthur nodded thoughtfully “Sir Kay?”

Kay stepped forward, in line with his siblings. “I agree with Princess Mithian’s appraisal of the situation. Our lands have grown hostile and enemies appear in the guise of friends. Our only hope is to bind closely together, make our walls of friendship and trust as impenetrable as that of this castle.”

The chamber waited, not a breath to be heard as King Arthur looked down the line of siblings, taking his time on each of them. Eventually he stepped forward.

“Very well, King Bediviere, Sir Kay, please kneel before your King.” 

Her brothers went willingly, placing themselves on their knees before King Arthur of Albion. The early morning sun glinted off Excalibur as she was realised from her sheath and rested gently on their shoulders. Mithian blamed her lack of sleep on the proud tears pooling in her vision.

And when they rose they were Knights of Camelot, the knights - Gwaine, Percival, Elyan and Leon - coming forward to greet them as brothers. Mithian stayed back but caught Arthur’s gaze on her over the heads of his newest recruits. 

Their eyes met for a moment and his lips quirked, just a miniscule amount and he nodded. Mithian didn’t know what it meant exactly, but it felt like acceptance. Whilst her brothers were distracted she slipped out. She had more important places to be.

*

“I can walk unaided you know,” Merlin grumbled, his words belying the way he leaned against her supporting weight, his hand clamped firmly around his middle. 

Mithian could feel the watchful eyes of the knights around them in the courtyard, each waiting for Merlin to stumble or trip so they could come to his daring rescue. Even Kay and Bediviere who had only spent the last few weeks with the warlock had already formed a strong attachment to him.

Mithian just accepted it in exasperation as one of the things that she would have to learn to deal with.

She fixed her arm more securely around his back, taking their walk slowly, one precarious step at a time. “Stop being stubborn and let me help you.”

“Bossy,” he murmured. “I always said you were bossy.”

“So you don’t want to share a horse with me?” she arched an eyebrow, propping him against the brown mare they would be sharing. Leaning over him with the pretence of fixing the saddle she let her breath brush his ear in a whisper, “I’ll make sure you don’t fall.”

When she pulled back, apparently satisfied the saddle was secure, Merlin was shaking his head at her ruefully, his cheeks a giveaway shade of red. “Forget Arthur - you are going to be the death of me.”

*

When their party reached the hills overlooking Camelot, the majestic castle peeking out from the trees, Mithian slowed their horse, allowing their companions to ride ahead. 

She looked outwards, for the third time seeing the white stone appear and the flags waving triumphantly in the breeze. She got the same thrill she always had, awed by the innate beauty before her. But this time she felt no fear, or anxiety - only hope.  
Merlin’s hand tightened around her middle, his chin hooking over her shoulder. “Are you ready to go home?” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. 

She leant back into his warmth, a private smile on her lips, feeling the hold of the arms around her and the warm sun on her. Mithian turned, brushing a gentle kiss to his waiting lips before facing forward and geeing the horse along, moving forward, only ever forward, toward her future.

**


	2. Epilogue: A Royal Wedding and Wedding Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited happy ending and the night that follows.

**

Merlin watched Arthur adjust his robe for the third time, and then poke at his crown trying to ensure it was straight, and then fiddle with his belt moving Excalibur just so.

“How are you feeling?” Merlin asked, stepping forward from behind and batting Arthur’s fumbling fingers away, properly securing the king’s cloak clasp.

“Fine,” Arthur gritted, looking put out. Merlin smirked internally. Even after all these years the prat hadn’t learnt to dress himself.

“Are you sure? Do you remember what you are supposed to say?”

“Yes, Merlin.”

“Good. … because it’s alright if you’re nervous.”

“Merlin…”

“Yes - shut up.” Merlin sighed, stepping back and allowing Arthur to fiddle with his outfit again, undoing all of Merlin’s work.

Merlin took a deep breath, and peeked out of the small chamber they were in, out at the waiting crowds, feeling his stomach clench in apprehension.

“You know, it’s alright if you feel nervous.” Arthur spoke right into his ear, making him jump.

“I’m not nervous, you prat. I’m just…” Merlin swallowed glancing back to the full hall. “There are a lot of people out there.”

“Don’t look so worried - most of them are here to see me.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Merlin rolled his eyes.

When he looked back Arthur was looking at him with an odd fondness which was quickly gone when the king strode forward, his ceremonial robes seeming to have fixed themselves. 

“Come on.” Arthur grinned, placing a brotherly arm around his shoulders. “Let’s go get you married.”

*

When she had first been shown to her quarters – their quarters – she had just stood and looked. Mithian had basically rescinded her title, marrying a servant – perhaps a powerful warlock but a servant still, Arthur’s forgiveness not stretching that far yet – and was fully ready to find a one room house in the town, a first home for the newly wed.

But the king and queen had interceded, a wedding present they said. 

She stared in wonder at the room she found herself in. One of the largest of the castle’s chambers, a large fire roared in the ornate fireplace, deep cushions and chairs surrounding it, rich curtains before the windows lining the wall, and in the centre the bed stood tall and proud, deep blue curtains hanging from each post pooling to the floor. 

Mithian let her knees give in over the small puffed stool in front of an opulent mirror, and stared at her own reflection, at the sheen of tears covering each eye. She gave her mirror-self a choked laugh. 

But something else drew her gaze, something shining bright from the corner of her eye. Looking down she saw her own hand, and the thin band of silver wrapping one finger. Remembering the feel of the cool metal as Merlin slipped it up her finger, the hum of Arthur’s voice fading to the background as Merlin named her his wife, and he her husband.

Husband…

Mithian’s shoulder lifted in a silent giggle, slightly hysterical, and she clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle it. She took a deep breath, allowing the world and the room and her new life as a wife to wash over her. Calmed, she faced herself in the mirror, at her hair still pulled away from her face in elaborate plaits and twists. 

She reached one hand to the back of her head and pulled at the clip, strands of her hair falling down over her back and she began to prepare. 

Mithian’s hair was falling freely over her shoulders by the time the second door opened. 

He was already dressed for their night, bare feet with soft breeches, the light tunic taught across his chest. 

Merlin’s eyes skipped over the riches and decadence surrounding him and fixed firmly onto her. Mithian swallowed, a shiver of anticipation running through her at his look, like there was nothing and no one in his world apart from her. 

She knew that was far from true but revelled in those moments when she got them. 

Mithian stood then, her thin silk nightdress hanging loosely from her frame, sitting wide on her shoulders. 

They didn’t need words, they had shared them together all day, from declarations of fidelity to whispered comments through the feast. The blue of his eyes, the slow bob of his adam’s apple was all she needed to see.

“Sorry I’m late,” he quipped.

They congressed slowly in the middle of the room, neither rushing nor hastening their steps. “Did you get caught in the halls?” Mithian joked, her voice threaded by the incessant pounding of her heart. 

“It doesn’t matter now.”

His hand reached out, now touching distance apart. He brushed her hair over her shoulder, watching the brush of his hand against her locks. His hand trailed down the back her arm, cinching her hand in his own, lifting it to his lips. Mithian smiled fondly upon his bent head and he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, their signature kiss it seemed. 

Merlin pulled back and his eyes met hers once more. And there she saw it, she had seen it before on countless occasions and in various forms, but there was the look, the look of a man in love, who loved with all his being and didn’t care who knew. And he was hers.

Mithian took a breath and pulled back, her hands coming slowly to pull at the strings of her gown, widening the neck enough for it to slip, light and easy, to a pool of fabric at her feet. 

She was bared, nothing hidden or covered, presented to her husband. Merlin hadn’t taken his eyes off her exposing skin and he stepped forward now, his eyes blown wide in arousal. Mithian’s body trembled under the study. Slowly, he reached out a hand, his fingertips trailing softly down the slope of her breast, tripping over her erect nipple. It made her whole body twitch. 

“You are…” Merlin breathed, as his hand skimmed lower, his eyes following its path down her ribs to her hip, to the line where her legs met her body. “… just beautiful”

The fingers travelled down that line, towards the garden of hair between her legs. Her whole body was trembling now with the need to be closer, wanting to reach out to him, pull him into her. But she waited, happy to submit to his inspection and discovery for the moment. But when his fingers tangled into that hair, fingers running through it as if combing but going nowhere near where she wanted, she gave in.

“Merlin, husband... Please.”

She reached a hand to the planes of his stomach, easily slipping beneath his loose tunic to the taught muscles beneath. The scar from Mordred’s wound was still raised, pink fresh skin that she could feel beneath her fingers. 

His hand moved down cupping the space between her legs, a flashback to an earlier moment in their story, but now there was no barrier between them. A small sound escaped Mithian’s lips, her fingers clenching against his side and she felt herself begin to grow wet. 

But he pulled away, his hands grasping the bottom of his tunic quickly raising it above his head. Mithian stepped closer in her nakedness, near enough for her nipples to brush his bare chest. When his head emerged, his blue eyes met hers. Merlin’s hands descend from above his head, trailing down her exposed back, brushing against the top of her buttocks. Mithian didn’t remove her eyes from his as she took her hands to the laces of his breeches. 

They were both breathing so heavily, their breaths gusting against each other’s faces. But they didn’t break the connection of their eyes. Stepping closer, she ran her hands around his waist, dipping her hands into the loosened material resting on his bottom. 

Their bare torsos were pushed together now, shockingly warm. Mithian found she could just stay there, feeling his skin against hers, her nose buried against his neck and his lips in her hair. 

Merlin’s hands swept up the planes of her back, crossing over at her small waist and pulling them together. The thud of his heart beat hard against her chest and she could feel her tremors mirrored through his body. 

It had just been so long, too much build up and anticipation, too much longing and patience, and now they were finally here. 

His manhood had been hard when he came in, she had seen it through his trousers, but now she could feel it, pulsing against her stomach. It made her tremble, her insides clenching at the thought of what was to come next. She was nervous, yes, but more than that she wanted, with such a burning force it was hard to remember what to do next.

“I want you on our bed,” Merlin whispered hoarsely into her hair. 

Glad for the direction Mithian pulled back, brushing a tender kiss across his quivering lips. She walked backwards, allowing him to take his look, his gaze so heavy that she could feel it as sure as any touch up and down her body. It made her feel bold, powerful. 

When the backs of her knees touched the bed she pushed onto it, never taking her eyes off Merlin where he was standing frozen in the room. Laying down now. she laid her hands above her head, ready and waiting, trying to hide their trembles.

His breath leaving his chest in a gush, Merlin crossed the space quickly, wiggling his breeches from his thighs on the way. When he knelt onto the bed his long legs were bare, a brushing of dark coarse hair along them. 

Mithian let herself take this look as he had done with her, bringing one hand down to run along his thigh. The muscle beneath the skin was hard; she flattened her palm against it watching its progress through the brittle hair and up to his defined hips and across his ribs, curving around to his back. 

When she let her hand come to a rest by his shoulder blade he was poised above her. Mithian could feel his arms trembling, braced either side of her head. She pulled him down so his weight was on her, pushing her back into the mattress. Merlin let out a choked off moan at the sudden contact of skin, Mithian couldn’t blame him; it felt divine. 

She brushed a teasing kiss to his jaw, then his chin. He moved then, capturing her lip between his. Their mouths moved together for a while, their tongues twinning and their saliva mixing. Hardly glorious and graceful, but Mithian hooked her arm under his shoulder, pulling him in tighter for more. 

There was barely space between their bodies and they began to rock, his pelvis pushing her back into the bed. She gripped a hand to his bum, moving him to where she wanted him, to where her womanhood pulsed in time to her heart, soaking the hair that surrounded it. 

When the tip of him brushed against her Merlin gasped and pulled back. Mithian swallowed, holding back her protestations, wanting to pull him back down to feel his warmth pressing against her again. Merlin knelt back, trailing his hand down from her neck, both hands moving to cup her breasts then down her flat belly, then down.

She bent her legs, unashamed before him. He brushed his fingers against her opening, a small whimper escaping her lips. Her first virgin touch, it made a pink blush stain across her cheek and neck, even her jaw was trembling as she looked down at her husband, knelt between her opened thighs. He dipped his fingers in her fluid, painting it up her crease to her bundle, slickly sliding his fingers up and over and down the side of her lips. 

“Merlin, please,” she moaned, her plea cutting off when one finger breeched her insides. It felt so foreign, his digit cool against her heated core, but right. She pushed her pelvis down, trying to draw it further in her walls fluttering around the intrusion.

“Mithian I don’t-” Merlin whispered. “It’s so tight, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Mother said… to stretch me before. Use two.”

He pulled his finger out, the sound it made so obscene and loud in the quiet chamber. Mithian almost keened from the loss but then it was back, this time joining with a second. The stretch on her felt tight but good. Merlin pushed them deeper, his knuckles pushing against her nerves. Involuntary, her walls clamped around the intrusion as if trying to pull them further in, her breath exhaling in a stutter.

“Gods,” Merlin groaned, his free hand gripping down at the base of his manhood. His head lay against her belly, heaving with each of her breaths. “I have to… It’s just too much…”

He pulled away but was on her again before she could make a sound, the blunt end of him pressing against her opening.

It hurt, it did. Tears stung at her eyes as she was pierced in two. The long hot heat of him pushing into her, large and blunt. He went slowly though, and Mithian could feel the quivers through his body at the strain. So she bit her lip, curling her hands up to his shoulders and buried her head into his neck so he couldn’t see. 

It seemed to last an age, like the moving of glaciers, but then he stopped, and they were joined, like two pieces of a puzzle slotted together as if made to do so. He rested his forehead against her own, his eyes screwed shut. It ached so deep inside her but she just basked in it, the weight of him against her, the feel of his hips between her legs, the coarse rub of his chest against her sensitive nipples. 

“It’s not going to last long, I’m afraid,” Merlin panted, a self-conscious tug to his lips.

“I don’t care,” Mithian breathed, curling her leg closer to her chest. Merlin slipped in further and he groaned, eyes flying open to find Mithian’s. 

“I have to-“

“Move,” she commanded. 

And he did, rocking back and forth, each push against her pressing his pelvis to her mound, sending sparks down her spine. Now there was no space between them. Joined by law and by body. One of his hands came up, threading with her own above their heads, cradling her head into his embrace.

Her legs felt awkward and in the way, she curled one around Merlin’s torso, her heel against his back moving along with his every push. 

“Mithian,” Merlin choked, sounding wrecked. He buried his head against the pale skin of her neck, mouthing at the skin there. His thrusts became erratic, pushing harder and harder against her, she loosened herself, letting him go, feeling her wetness increase with every thrust against her nerves.

Then he gasped and stalled. A cry was torn from his lips in a pained shout. Mithian felt him throb violently inside her, forcing a gasp from her own lips and wetness flooded her, pulse after pulse. His hips stuttered for a moment and then he stilled.

They lay like that, his softening member still piercing her, their hands tangled, her legs splayed uncomfortably around him, his breath gasping against her cheek. Then he rolled. Mithian hid her wince as he escaped her, allowing the mixture of their fluids and the blood from her seal to leak out onto the sheets in evidence. 

“Wow,” Merlin breathed. She turned to the side to watch him smile lazily, trailing his fingers down her jaw. “You were just amazing. My wife.” 

“My husband,” she whispered back, capturing his lips in a lazy sloppy kiss, comfortable and soothing in its simplicity.

He pulled back, far enough for breath, resting his hand on her waist. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she assured him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Though I feel thoroughly debauched, my legs are numb.”

He laughed quietly, the sound not escaping the small cocoon they had created with their bodies. “Come here,” he murmured, rolling Mithian around, pushing his body against her back. Both lay bare and together above the sheets, evidence of their consummation soaking beneath them, but she couldn’t find it in herself to move. 

“That was just practice,” she murmured when they’d settled, Merlin’ nose brushing against her shoulder, pressing lazy kisses to it at intervals. “-for when we want to create our own little Dragonlords.”

As soon as the words left her mouth she wanted to drag them back in, the sated happiness humming though her body had loosened her lips. She felt Merlin’s body grow rigid behind her.

“Children?” he asked hoarsely.

Mithian chastised herself and her loose tongue staining this moment between them, but it was done now. “Do you not want children?” she asked, trying to pretend his answer didn’t matter, that she her heart and dreams wouldn’t crack at the wrong response. 

“No, it’s just… I’ve never… I never let myself think of it, knowing that I couldn’t have that.”

Mithian couldn’t bare not to be able to see his face, she turned over, staring at him fiercely. “Well now you can, I will give you anything you desire.”

“You… always you,” he choked, his hand coming to her jaw.

“And you have me.”

This time when their lips met it was fierce, a battle as each tried to devour the other. Yesterday had their kisses come to this, one of them, most likely Merlin, would have pulled back, urging for patience, for just one more day. But now they had no reason to stop, no reason to hold back. 

Mithian arched her still aching hips against her husbands, their bellies pressing together, the firm muscle of his lined with black hair, against the soft concave of her own. 

“Children?” Merlin gasped in wonder half way through, breaking their lips.

“It doesn’t have to be now, we’re young, we have time for you to adjust.”

Merlin grinned slowly like the sun rising, his eyes lighting in mischief before he pushed forward, flipping Mithian back onto her back. She yelped but grinned back, revelling in his playfulness. He settled back between her legs, evidence of his quick recovery pressing against her hip.

“I think we should practice, just in case.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this if so let me know what you thought of it. Whether you are happy for Merlin and Mithian's happy (hopefully) ever after or any ideas for any sequels/one-shots.


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